Life, As It Were
by Golden Blackbird
Summary: Epilogue Non-Compliant, Chaptered. Ten years after the fact, and he's learned that nothing life does can be expected anymore.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

_An old man__ turned ninety-eight_

The room was dark. Partly because the curtains were drawn, and partly because of the rain that tapped at the glass insistently, like a small child begging for attention. A thin shaft of gray light peeked through a space in the curtains, falling on a hand thrown carelessly across a pillow in sleep. The clock read 7:35 am.

The sleeping figure groaned, rolling over and muffling the sound of the rain with his blanket. After a moment a bleary eye opened to focus on the glaring red numbers on the clock's faceplate. With another groan the man pulled back his blankets and threw his legs over the side of the bed, resting elbows to knees and linking his fingers behind his bowed head. A resigned sigh came from his body as he stood up, shuffling across the room. He picked some trousers off the floor, inspected them, and pulled them on before opening the bedroom door. From the corner of the room a black dog rose and dashed into the hallway. The man followed.

He turned into the bathroom, his body working from rote memorisation. He thumbed in his contacts, looking up at eyes that were now brown, now hazel, and leaned on the sink. Black hair that looked like it had never seen the bristle-end of a comb hung into his eyes, and three day-old five o'clock shadow stubbled at his cheeks and chin. Carefully, he traced the outline of a fading scar on his forehead, a jagged line that started below his hairline and ended above his eyebrows. Down to the second, this man was a creature of habit, for the silver clock hanging on the wall now read 7:40.

Harry Potter left his bathroom and walked directly into his kitchen. The coffee maker had already gone off, set on a timer, and Harry popped two pieces of bread into the toaster and whipped an egg and a tomato from the fridge. After poking around a bit more, he added mayonnaise to the counter. His egg cooked as he sliced up his tomato, and as if the toaster, too, were on a timer, his toast popped the moment he took his egg from the stove. A sandwich was hastily put together, coffee poured into a cup, and Harry headed into his living room, dropping over the arm of his chair into his well-broken groove. The television was already on the news channel. It was now 7:50.

Harry started to make his sandwich vanish as the weather came on, promising rain, rain and more rain for the next few days, followed by a massive thunderstorm. Harry grumbled around his mouthful of food, and from the sofa, his dog growled back.

"I know, Pads," he said, leaving the last bite of his sandwich on the coffee table while he went to put his mug in the sink. When he returned, the sandwich had mysteriously vanished, and the dog had a too-innocent look on his face. Harry glared half-heartedly at his dog, who smiled up at him, his sloppy jowls hanging.

"Come on, Pads. You've got to walk, and I've got to get food. And maybe some socks." Pads' bright eyes sparkled with dog laughter, and he leapt from the sofa like a carefree baby deer and bounded for the door, pressing his nose to the crack and wagging his tail so hard his whole back end went with it. Harry slipped into his windcheater and attached Pads' leash to his collar. For a final touch, he slipped a vest over the dog's back. There was a simple image on the back: a no sign over a dog's face, with a hand. Harry left his apartment at 8:00, locking the door behind him. As he turned into the stairwell the light caught the reflective lettering on the dog's vest: Anxiety Alert Dog.

It was raining outside, but not hard. Pads' vest protected his already short fur from the rain, and the Boxer-mix's long legs and docked tail were perfect for London weather. Harry walked down the street and rounded a corner, deciding that he would first pick up those socks. And maybe some trousers. The walk had reminded him that the backs of his jeans were far too frayed to be fashionable anymore. He shopped quickly, pausing only to let Pads decide which dog treats were exactly right before forcing himself back into the rain, carrying three bags and a strong dog. He wrapped Pads' leash around his wrist for security before starting for home.

Halfway there, Pads was suddenly behind him, and as Harry continued to walk forward, the dog began to pull. Harry turned around and saw his faithful dog staring down an alley, his head cocked and ears erect. He tilted his head one way, then the other, and looked back at Harry.

"Come, Pads," Harry said, tugging at the leash. Pads made a face that Harry could only call concerned and tugged back. Harry tugged again, and Pads shook himself, then barked once, his voice uncertain. Harry became concerned himself: Pads was trained never to bark unless Harry was in danger or having an anxiety attack. He put his bags down outside an apartment door, just under the overhang, and walked to the mouth of the alley. There was nothing there.

Pads began to whine. Wondering what had set his dog off, Harry slowly unwrapped his leash and dropped it. Pads looked up at him, and Harry gave him a command, "Find it."

Pads trotted down the alley, sniffing, pausing every so often to cock his head, before sitting down next to a mound and pawing at it. Harry came after him, staring at the mound. It looked like a pile of dirty old clothes. The alley was dark and wet and reeked of garbage, and it seemed to close in on him. Harry swallowed hard, reaching for Pads' leash, convinced that the dog had found either a dead person or a dead animal, when the mound moved. It sat up, resolving into a pale, skinny man in a black overcoat. His hair hung in wet clumps around his face; it might have been blonde at one time. The man looked at Pads, and looked up at Harry, looking resigned.

"Could you please call your dog off?" he asked, his accents either of a Brit who had been in America for a while, or vice versa. Immediately Harry thought the latter, for any Brit to return to the United Kingdom they'd have to be coming back to family.

"Pads, it's okay," Harry said firmly. Pads looked up at him, planting both his forepaws firmly on the earth. He looked up at Harry with concern, sensing how the alley was making his master feel, but also how it must be making the stranger feel. Pads' compassion for the bum was not unheard of- Pads was always fond of going out of his way to let the homeless pet him- but he had never gone to this extreme before. Harry tried to think of something to say. "Are you okay?" was stupid, obviously he wasn't. "Why are you out here?" was just as stupid, as he certainly hadn't chosen to be out in the rain. Finally, Harry settled on, "Do you need any help?"

That appeared to be wrong too. The man shot him a glare. It was half-hearted, but full of pride. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again, the glare vanishing. The resigned look was back.

"Yes," the stranger said bitterly. "I do."

Pads whined.

"Well," Harry said, unsure why he was going to suggest what he knew he was going to suggest, "I've got a hide-a-bed, and food, and a roof. It won't hurt me to lend a hand." The man's eyebrows drew together under his hair, and he looked down at his hands, wringing them together.

"Thanks," he said, finally, standing up. Suddenly, Harry wasn't sure if it was a good idea. The man's thin face looked almost desperate, but he hadn't stood up so much as unfolded. He had at least a foot of height on Harry, even if he was thinner in the shoulder, he didn't look like he weighed much less than Harry either. But Pads was suddenly up, pressing against his legs and wagging his tail the way he did with every browbeaten homeless man. Harry thought he saw the ghost of a smile as he reached down to scratch Pads' ears.

"Come on," Harry said, tugging Pads after him. His new charge followed slowly, although his stride was clearly longer than Harry's. Harry was just glad to be out of the alley, out of the oppressing dark and damp. He breathed a sigh of relief before stooping to pick up his bags again.

"I can carry some."

Harry looked at him. He was opening his home to this man, if he couldn't even let him carry a bag of groceries, something was wrong. Harry nodded, and he picked up two of the bags, leaving Harry with just one and Pads to deal with.

-- -- --

"Here it is, home sweet home," Harry said as he opened the door to his flat with a jingle of keys. He unclipped Pads' leash and vest and hung them up alongside his windcheater. Pads gave a shake- more for show than anything, as he was already almost dry- and leapt onto the sofa. "It's not much, but it works." Harry wasn't exactly embarrassed by his well-worn furniture, but he suddenly realised that everything was pretty old and used looking. Light poured in from windows lined along the far wall, giving a view of the park across the street.

"It's more than I had," the man said, standing rather awkwardly at the doorway. Harry gestured at him to take his coat off, taking the groceries to start putting them away.

"Can you throw that last bag into my room?" he asked.

"All right," there was a shuffling, and a thump, and more shuffling, and Harry heard the man ease into his squeaky armchair. "Are you thirsty?" Harry called, pulling a bottle of coke from the fridge.

"Yes," came the reply. "But your dog is staring at me." Harry filled up two glasses with coke and entered the living room, handing one to his new charge and putting the other on the glass coffee table. Pads was, indeed, staring at the man, his chin and forepaws resting on the arm of the sofa. Harry patted him and Pads wagged his stub.

"He's just wondering why you're in my chair," Harry said good-naturedly.

"Oh," said the man. He took a sip of his drink before setting it precisely beside Harry's glass, and then held out his hand to Pads. Pads, knowing that this was how humans introduced themselves to dogs, sniffed it, then pressed his face into it and wiggled. The man stroked Pads' head with piano-player's fingers, and an intensity that looked like his very life depended on it. Pads groaned happily.

"I think… he saved me."

Harry blinked at this revelation, staring at Pads. The dog was a wonder. When he looked back up at the man, tears were creeping down his cheeks. He slid off the chair to his knees and buried his face in Pads' strong neck. Pads licked him and whined, mussing his matted hair up further. Harry simply stared, feeling awkward, until the man let go of his dog and wiped the tears from his face with a grimy sleeve. He pulled himself back into the chair, still absently stroking Pads' ears. He looked up at Harry.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I just… I don't know how long I could have survived out there."

"How long have you been on the street?" Harry asked. The man seemed to count, and he finally breathed, "Three years."

"Well, you're welcome to stay here for as long as you need," Harry said. "Just remember that he's Pads, and I'm Harry P-"

"Please," the stranger cut him off. "No last names. I don't… it's just… uh… call me Duck."

"Duck?" Harry repeated, thrown off.

"My friends called me that," Duck said.

"Do you want to call them? Let them know you're all right?"

"I left on pretty bad terms, and it would be international anyway," Duck said.

"So you are American," Harry stated, half a question. Duck shook his head.

"British. I moved to Canada a decade ago," Duck said. "My mother wanted… me to have a chance, I guess. My parents were involved in some bad politics."

"Do you want to call her?"

Again, Duck just shook his head dejectedly, looking utterly depressed. "She's… not listed. And she moved." Duck leaned back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling. It was then that Harry noticed that his aristocratic face wasn't just thin, it was gaunt: his cheeks too hollow to be merely sharp-boned, his eyes too dark to be just tired. Harry abruptly stood up and Duck flinched, his gaze snapping to Harry.

"Look, you look like a walking stick. Actually, I think the bugs are bigger than you. If you're staying here, I won't have you dying of emaciation on my living room floor," Harry said bluntly. Duck's eyebrows drew together, but he crossed his arms against his chest, as if trying to cover himself up. Harry moderated his tone, and went on more gently. "If you want to wash up the bathroom's open to you. I've got an extra toothbrush in the cabinet, and I can bring you some clothes."

"I can't accept charity," Duck began, but faltered.

"You already have," Harry said, suppressing an exasperated smirk. "Look, if it bothers you that much, we can start a tab, okay?" Duck nodded, standing up. As Harry walked into the kitchen, Duck made his way to the bathroom with the slow, careful steps of someone walking down a thin aisle lined with expensive Chinaware. Harry had decided he would make something infallible for lunch: spaghetti. It was easy enough that even he couldn't screw it up, and precisely three people in the entire world disliked it. Harry set the water to boil as Duck closed the bathroom door. Harry tossed the spaghetti in the pot and went into his room, trying to find the longest pair of jeans he owned: he was only a 32'-32', and Duck was substantially taller than he was. Harry added a shirt to the pile, and then carefully folded up new pairs of socks and boxers on top.

He knocked at the door, and Duck cracked it open. Harry held up the clothes, and Duck practically sucked them into the bathroom, but not before Harry saw the numerous scars criss-crossing his arms and chest, or the tattoo on his arm. The door clicked shut.

"Thanks," came the muffled reply before the water started running. Harry's heart went out to the guy: in the years following Fred Weasley's death and his ejection from the Weasley clan, Harry had felt like slicing himself up like a tomato more than once. _Instead, I just turned neurotic!_ Harry thought cynically to himself. He quickly turned around, stomping back into the kitchen and stabbing viciously at his spaghetti. He poured tomato sauce into a bowl and popped it into the microwave, then decided he needed garlic bread. Spaghetti needed garlic bread. Harry sliced up a baguette and slathered it in butter and garlic, sliding it into the oven as Duck left the bathroom.

"Spaghetti," Harry said, straining it.

"Uh," Duck said awkwardly, and Harry looked up at him. Duck was holding up his jeans with one hand, and furtively trying to comb his wet hair out with the other. "Whoops!" said Harry. He dropped the strainer into the sink. "I forgot you were skinnier than me." A flush crept up Duck's neck as Harry sped past him. When Harry had fetched a belt and righted the wrong, he piled spaghetti onto two plates and drowned it in sauce. Harry rarely used his table for dining, but with company it just seemed right. Harry watched with a kind of morbid fascination as Duck wolfed down the spaghetti fast enough that Harry wondered if there had ever been spaghetti on the plate.

"Still hungry?" Harry asked, and Duck nodded sheepishly. While Harry gave him the last of the spaghetti, he also checked on the garlic bread and found it done. Over done: it was nicely black along the edges. Harry offered it to Duck with a wince, "Extra crispy." Duck stared at the proffered bread for a moment before he choked on a mouthful of spaghetti. Harry thumped him on the back until Duck let out a wheezing hack and started laughing. It was so absurd that Harry started laughing too.

"So I'm not the best cook," Harry admitted. "But at least it's food!"

"At least it's that," Duck agreed, nibbling delicately at the charred garlic bread. After dinner Duck offered to do the dishes, but Harry declined. "You're a guest here until you get irritating, _then _you can do house-work."

"Okay," Duck said hesitantly. "I'll just go sit down."

When Harry was done he came into the living room to find Duck on the sofa with Pads sprawled comfortably across his lap. He seemed to be trying to entice Pads to use the remote.

"He changed the channel!" Duck said by way of explanation. Harry nodded, pointing to the little green button.

"I taught him how to get it to the news, it's on the favourite button," Harry said. "He taught himself how to turn the telly on when he realised I hated silence."

"He's smart," Duck said, stroking Pads thoughtfully. Pads grunted. "Why do you have a service dog? You're not blind, deaf, or mute, as far as I can tell."

"Pads is an anxiety alert dog," Harry said. "I… had a fucked up life. I have a lot of anxiety attacks." Harry smiled fondly, remembering the day he had seen the last of a litter of Boxer-Border collie puppies at the shelter, how he had just wanted a friend but Pads had turned into a saviour. He was shocked at how his feelings reflected what Duck had said earlier. "He does save people."

Duck nodded, and Harry saw tears in his eyes again as he petted Pads. "Thanks," he said softly, and looked up at Harry. "For everything. You didn't have to help."

"Yes, I did. If you weren't there looking pitiful, Pads would be," Harry said lightly. Duck's smile was weak, but genuine. Harry leaned forward, putting his hands together. "Is there anything I should know about you?" Duck looked confused. "You're diabetic, you've got a criminal record, you're dying, you don't like peas?" Duck shook his head.

"No…" he said slowly, rubbing his arms, his face going shades paler until it was almost gray. His eyes looked scared, darting over Harry's face, trying to read it. "I-I used to be a student of psychology. I-"

"It's okay," Harry said. "We're both thoroughly fucked up. I just don't want to fear waking up with a pair of scissors in my throat." Duck looked vaguely ill, going still and silent.

"I'd never…" he said faintly, looking terrified.

"Good," Harry said. "Freelance sports journalist."

"What?" Duck asked, clearly confused.

"You went to school for psychology, I'm a sports journalist." Duck made a small "Oh" sound, his entire face seeping gratitude at the change of subject.

"I have a masters, actually," he said. Harry blinked. "So you could practice here, or get back in school?" Duck nodded. "That's fantastic. When you get back on your feet, you won't be as burned as some of the other homeless guys."

"I'm not homeless," Duck said firmly, and then sighed. "I guess I am."

"Was, you're here now," Harry said, just as firmly. "I used to be on my school's sports team. I'm not going to tackle you to the ground anytime soon."

Duck chuckled.

Most of the day was spent in this fashion, talking aimlessly about the recent past. Neither man delved much farther past the age of twenty-two unless it was necessary to make a point, but Harry was surprised to find that Duck- with his pale, youthful features- was actually a few months older than him. Pads was quite happy having two completely different laps to choose to sit on, and though Harry was afraid his massive weight might be a bit much on Duck's thin form, Duck never complained, encouraging the dog to jump up and happily accepting stray hairs and dog slobber as if they belonged on him. Dinner was largely unexciting, except that Duck cleaned his plate even more thoroughly than the first. At eleven that night, after the evening news, Harry unfolded the hide-a-bed and bid Duck good-night. He dropped his jeans unceremoniously on the floor, tossed his shirt carelessly over his bedside table, and crawled into bed as Pads crawled into his own.

The clock read 11:10 that night when Harry fell asleep, and for the first time in years, Harry didn't care.

-- -- --

The next several days dawned in quite the same way as the first, but Harry's life was no longer strictly scheduled, even if the schedule had been unnoticed before. On the first day, Harry woke up and scrambled eggs for breakfast, sitting in his armchair and watching the morning news as Duck slept, his face crushed into the pillow and the blanket covering him up to his ears. Duck made a sound in his sleep.

"G'mornin'," Harry said.

"Mm," said Duck. "Mrf?" One gray eye opened, fuzzed with sleep. "Huh?"

"Breakfast," Harry said eloquently, pointing to the plate balanced on the corner of the arm and back of the sofa. Duck sat up slowly, the blankets falling around his waist, and grabbed the plate, ready to inhale the eggs. Harry's eyes were caught by the horror that was Duck's wasted body: every rib was visible, his vertebrae a mountain marching down his back, collarbones and hips sticking out painfully. His entire body was crossed with scars: long scars, thin scars, fat scars. Harry noticed he kept both of his arms palm-down, as if the cuts on his inner arms were somehow worse than the rest. He caught Harry's eye, his face turning a bold and fetching shade of red. Harry realised how he must look, staring at Duck.

"Sorry, it's just… you're so…" Duck winced. "How could you live like that?"

Duck shook his head, his significantly cleaner hair swaying around his face. "I couldn't. I didn't want to." He put his fork down, his hands shaking. "I feel so pathetic."

"Don't," Harry said. "Everyone has downtime. Yours was just a hell of a lot worse than normal." Duck looked up at him, his eyes the sad eyes of a mournful Basset hound. Harry dropped his fork on his plate with a clang- Duck practically jumped- and put the plate on the coffee table, picking up the jeans he had given Duck the day before as he did so. "Look, you can't wear the same clothes day after day. I'm not letting you reek up my house, that's Pads' job." Duck chuckled. "We'll get you some clothes later, okay?"

"Well, I guess I can't wear the same underpants for God knows how long," Duck conceded.

-- -- --

When I bulk upload chapters, author's notes will go on the last chapter uploaded. All righty? Good. I love reviews and chocolate.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_He won the lottery and died the next day_

A week after Duck arrived at Harry's, a storm broke over London. Thunder boomed in the distance and lightning cracked blue against the sky, and the child tapping on the window turned into demons scratching and wailing to get in. Harry awoke that day crying and shaking. Pads, sensing Harry's discomfort, leapt onto the bed and skilfully positioned himself on Harry's lap, so that he could lick one of Harry's palms while the other groped blindly for the lamp. The light clicked on, bathing the room in a fierce white glow, and Harry sat bolt upright for several long moments, trying to calm himself down. Every concussion of thunder made him want to scream; the demons at his window got in, crawling into his room.

Eventually, Pads' quiet ministrations calmed Harry enough that he could get up. Shakily he got dressed, pulling on a fleecy sweater and pulling the hood over his head. The soft interior made the storm feel less oppressive, less dark, less there. He opened the bedroom door, chewing his lip, and told Pads, "Turn it on."

Pads dashed down the hallway, and the light turned on as Pads pressed its footpad switch. Harry heard the television turn on, and when the coffee maker started up, he scuttled down the hallway and into the bathroom. Harry hesitated to close the door: usually during a storm he'd leave it open so that Pads could get in, but with Duck there, he couldn't do that. Harry closed the door and his eyes, trying to convince himself that, no, he was not locked in a cell in the middle of a war. Thunder cracked and Harry flinched, leaning over the sink. He stared up at his reflection, a blurry green-eyed man staring back. He turned on the shower, hoping the water would soothe him and drown out the storm.

Harry crawled into the shower, trying to relax under the stream. For a moment it worked, as he thought of Mediterranean beaches and dolphin pods singing. With a gray flash and a thump of thunder, Harry was dragged back to the screaming devils in the corner of his mind. Suddenly, every dead face he had seen strewn about the battlefield, every Death Eater and friend, was in his head, screaming at him. His parents, Dumbledore, his family and most beloved friends, were at the forefront, jabbing accusing fingers at him and cursing the day he was born. Harry fell to his knees, curling up into a ball in the shower and clutching his head.

"Harry?!" he heard, a voice rising into panic. "Harry!" There was knocking at the door. "Shit, Pads, calm down," the voice was almost hysterical. Harry heard his dog scratching and barking at the door as Duck kept knocking, insistently repeating Harry's name. Harry supposed he had been screaming, judging by Duck's reaction and the raw sandpaper feeling of his throat. He clutched himself for a few more seconds, trying not to blink, trying to will the images away. He stood up shakily, turning off the water. The knocking stopped abruptly when that happened. Harry swiftly pulled his clothes on and opened the door, clutching his arms in much the same way Duck had the day Harry had seen his scars.

"What the hell?!" Duck shouted, gesturing emphatically. Harry would have laughed any other time: Duck was standing there with yesterday's jeans hanging off of his hips, waving his arms around. He looked scared. Harry couldn't meet his eye, focussing on the floor by his foot instead. Pads pressed against him, whining frantically and trying to lick Harry's hands. Harry shook his head, his wet hair clinging to his face. Quite suddenly he felt himself being crushed into a hug, Duck's skinny arms surprisingly strong. "God, I thought you died. You were screaming and Pads was freaking out and _God._"

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, his voice hoarse. Duck let go of him, gripping his arms almost painfully tight.

"Look man, you look like shit, and I know I'm not seeing the half of it," Duck said, his voice still shaky. He led Harry to the couch and pushed him down onto it: Harry folded up into a little ball rather easily, clutching his knees to his chest. Pads squeezed in beside him. Harry looked up and saw Duck running his hands through his hair, pressing palms to temples and breathing hard.

"It's the storm," Harry said quietly, feeling tears choking at him. Duck reminded him so much of the war it was almost painful, his scarred body so reminiscent of others who had suffered. "Storms are worst for my anxiety." He had to carefully enunciate every word, otherwise they would slur together into unintelligibility. Something seemed to dawn on Duck, for he leapt up and turned up the telly to almost unbearable levels, then drew all the blinds shut tight. The room turned almost black until Duck turned on every light he could find. He vanished into the kitchen and Harry heard breakfast sounds as Duck prepared something to eat. When a stack of toast was shoved into his hands and coffee practically forced down his throat, Harry stared at them in bewilderment.

"Thank you," he managed.

"Just don't let me think you're dying again," Duck said forcefully. He pulled a shirt off of the floor and over his head, then vanished into Harry's room. When he came back, it was with Harry's wallet: he thumbed it open and showed Harry its contents, then took out some money.

"I'm going to go out, okay? I'll be back fast," he said. Harry only nodded glumly, still wondering if he would be able to eat the toast. Duck bolted out the front door without even putting on his coat. Harry could hear him thumping wildly down the stairs. It wasn't long before Duck was back, soaked to the skin and panting hard. He was carrying a bag.

"Where did you go?" Harry asked, certain his voice was that of an abandoned child. Duck hesitated.

"I… I didn't know what to do, but… I… I know it helps when I'm having a freak-out," he said finally, and tapped the bag. It chimed; the logo on the side was that of the local offie.

Harry could have kissed him.

"It's… oh God, thank you," he said, hating himself, feeling utterly ashamed. "I-I ran out l-last time, and with you, I f-f-forgot." He started crying and buried his face in his arms and knees, sobbing. Duck was at his side in a flash, patting his back while Pads tried his best to lick Harry's face.

"I'm sorry," Harry groaned around his knees.

"Stop it," Duck said, his tone angry. Harry looked at him sideways through red eyes. "Just stop it. If I had to deal with what you do, I would have done more than this-" he thrust his arm under Harry's nose- "to myself. I'd be _dead_. I would have given up."

Harry felt sick, staring up close and personal at the scars littering Duck's arm. Harry looked at him and saw utter seriousness in his eyes. He opened his mouth, but Duck continued his fierce tirade before Harry could say anything.

"You are not pathetic, Harry. Whatever has happened to you to put you in this state had to be _bad_. I studied psychology long enough to know that; people don't develop anxiety disorders over nothing."

"You should also know that alcohol and… and… doesn't fix it," Harry muttered, tasting copper in his throat. He swallowed the bitter taste away as Duck's eyes cut to the side.

"No, they don't. But it's better than begging for mercy from ghosts," he said quietly, and Harry felt that this was more for Duck's sake than his own. "Do you want me to put it away?" Harry had to shake his head, although his face burned with shame. Duck squeezed his shoulder once and got up to walk away, but Harry grabbed his sleeve. He looked up at Duck- still soaked and shivering from the cold, wild-eyed and determination printed on his face- and said, "Thank you. I haven't had a friend in years."

Duck's jaw tightened. "Neither have I," he said. Harry let go of his sleeve, and Duck went into the kitchen. "Where should I put these?" Duck asked.

"The cupboard over the sink," Harry told him. He heard the cupboard open and Duck take pause, and buried his face further into his knees. He almost never cleared out his bottles, there must have been fifty or more up there by now. But Duck shuffled them around with clinking sounds and came into the living room with two glasses filled to the brim in his hands. He handed one to Harry.

"Rum 'n coke," he said. Harry stared at his glass, almost wishing he was alone. When he was alone, he spent the day in bed with Pads, drinking and wishing he could die. Part of him was glad Duck was there, but the other part was already ashamed of him, and Duck seemed to compound it. Duck's long, thin fingers touched his knee, and Harry looked up.

"You're not alone, Harry," he said. "If you get drunk, we get drunk."

"I just…" he started pathetically, but Duck cut him off with a warning glare. He looked pointedly at Harry before taking a swig of his drink and setting his glass down on the coffee table. Harry did the same, but kept his glass, thumbing the condensation off of it.

"You're soaked," he tried instead, reaching forward to pluck at Duck's shirt.

"Yeah, just a second," he said. Harry kept sipping at his drink as Duck stood up, scrounging around the living room floor. He managed to pull the t-shirt that he had worn over his long-sleeved shirt off the floor and swapped them, though he kept his jeans on.

"I don't care if they're wet, you need me more than I need dry pants. Besides," he added, "they're nice and cool."

Harry smiled weakly.

The two men started drinking, and didn't stop. It wasn't the drinking of men who want to forget, or those looking to have a wild night, but it was slow and steady, almost deliberate. Harry was delighted to find that Duck had an incredible tolerance to alcohol: he kept drinking, like Harry, long after a normal muggle would have started singing and dancing, or vomiting noisily. They talked, Harry slowly breaking out of his mind-trap as Duck dragged him into easy subjects, happy subjects. The storm never lessened, in fact, it grew worse, but Duck turned up the television when the sound of the storm intruded.

That night dinner was thoroughly burned and Harry, who was less giggly than Duck, ordered Chinese take-away over the phone. The deliveryman was tipped generously, partly out of thanks for driving in the weather, and partly out of drunkenness. He seemed amused. Pads had fun, for he managed to steal much more take-away than he normally could. He was quite pleased with himself as he sampled spare ribs and chop suey, licking up the grease that humans couldn't appreciate. Harry was drinking, as always, but he was _happy._ As long as Harry was happy, Pads was happy: he considered Duck a Very Good Thing, and showed him this by leaving copious amounts of drool on his jeans.

By the end of the night, Harry was in much the same opinion. He understood, now, Duck's apparent pride, fear of violence, even why he had chosen psychology, as he heard about a casually cruel father whose prejudiced values were forced onto a young son. Harry spilled his heart out about how he had been raised, and Duck raised outraged objections, threatening to disembowel the Dursley's if he had ever met them. He said he could understand why Harry was as fucked up as he was, and Harry was eternally grateful.

"But yer school couldna been _that_ bad, 'r yeh'd be a so-sho-path," Duck said seriously. Harry nodded.

"Tha'twas great, really. Friends, teachers liked me, captain o' th' spor's team. Had a coupla," Harry burped. "Coupla girlfriends, but they were always so _girly_." Harry made a face, and Duck laughed. "I had the mos' beautiful owl," Harry said, enunciating carefully so Duck understood just how beautiful Hedwig was. Duck looked confused.

"Owl?"

Some dim part of Harry's mind realised that owl was a bad thing to say. After a blank moment he laughed loudly and said, "Owl! As if I hadda _owl_! Sh'was a dove."

"M'dad killed one of m'pets once," Duck hiccuped sadly. "Wanned t'show me tha' pets were weak." Harry's eyes went wide as he grabbed hold of Pads, unable to believe someone could murder an animal.

"M'uncle threatened t'do tha' once 'r twice, but he never would," Harry said. Harry waved his hands around a bit and grabbed Duck's left arm, pulling him closer. He looked him right in the eye and said, "I hadda bully. Tried ta kill _me_ coupla times. Th' guy who killed m'parents tried ta do me in, too. Bastard."

Duck was staring at Harry wide-eyed, his eyebrows almost in his hairline, but scrunched together. His mouth flapped a bit, and Harry absently wondered why.

"Potter?" Duck breathed at last. It was Harry's turn to be confused as he wondered where Duck had found his last name. Then he relaxed, realizing that he'd probably seen his mail or something.

"Yeah," Harry said. "'Arry Potter I am!"

"Potter?" Duck seemed incredulous. He was trying to slink his arm out of Harry's grip. Harry stared into Duck's smoky gray eyes, squinting. Duck was blurry. Everything was blurry, and had been all night: he had forgotten his contacts that morning. As Harry stared at Duck, his face relaxed as realisation dawned. Duck was staring into very green eyes, his own occasionally darting upwards, seeking something that Harry had nearly wiped away over the past years. Duck's pale, pointed features came back to him full force: a child holding his hand out in friendship, a teenage boy playing teacher's pet, a young man crying over a sink, a pair of hands at his waist and fire at his back.

"Malfoy?" Harry breathed. Duck hitched in a breath and then, a look of terror on his face, tried to stand up and backpedal at the same time, throwing himself over the arm of the couch and landing on the floor. Harry lurched after him, sliding halfway off the couch and onto Duck, crushing him. Harry rearranged himself so that he was straddling Duck, a fistful of his shirt in one hand and his other raised in a fist, though he didn't know what to do with it. Duck cringed, his arms raised defensively, and Harry focussed on the tattoo branded into his skin: a black skull, a Dark Mark, crossed with scars. It made him sick.

Duck's eyes darted, and he snatched his arms down, hugging himself. Harry realised he was moaning a litany.

"Oh please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, please don't, Harry please," he implored, abject terror on his face. Harry lowered his hand and let go of Duck's shirt.

"Draco," he said thickly.

Draco nodded miserably.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry whispered, locking his eyes onto Draco's.

"I didn't know," Draco moaned. "I told you I thought I wouldn't live. I wanted to die. I wanted to die." Tears were sliding down his cheeks. Absently Harry smoothed Draco's t-shirt.

"I just, you… Draco?"

Draco looked up at him sadly. "Please, Harry."

"Please what?"

"I… please don't hate me."

Harry barked a laugh, and Draco flinched as if struck. "Hate you! You're the best friend I've had in years!" Harry flattened his hand on Draco's chest and Draco seemed to relax slightly, though he was still crying, his eyes silvery-white. Harry licked his lips, feeling parched, and Draco mimicked him. Harry drew his eyebrows together, wondering why a small part of him felt awkward. Abruptly he stood up and Draco stared up at him.

"I," he announced, "am tired."

"Okay," Draco said softly.

Harry headed down the hallway, using the wall as a support and cursing it for moving so much. He left his clothes lying in a crumpled heap on the floor and crawled into bed with Pads, who curled up tightly against Harry's chest. Harry fell into a deep and uneasy sleep.

-- -- --

He woke in the night screaming.

The thunder had come in with the demons, so that the entire war replayed in his head. Ghostly half-images that played over and over again. He could taste blood in the air, smell the wretched scent of decay and fear and putrefaction; his skin tingled as curses and hexes and jinxes, things he didn't even want to think about, whizzed through the air inches from his skin. It was unbearably hot and sticky and the air was oppressive and unbreathable. He saw Tonks' bleak eyes staring up at him, her face forever frozen in an expression of pain, and Lupin sobbing over her corpse. An infant Teddy's cries rose in the background, though he was nowhere to be seen, and Harry had a ridiculous moment of, _I have to get him out of here, _before he realised that the scene was changing.

Draco Malfoy stood, wilting, as Dumbledore reached out a hand in an offer of protection. Suddenly Dumbledore was arching through the air, his face mercifully calm and in control, and fell through the Astronomy tower window. Harry ran for it, leaning over so far he nearly pitched after his mentor, and heard an ear-shattering thump as he hit the ground. He looked up at Draco Malfoy, frozen forever in time, and saw not the troubled teen but the man he had become, his eyes as scarred as his body.

So Harry woke up screaming.

He clawed at his head, pleading with his nightmares to go away. Pads whined and licked him, trying to calm him down, but Harry just kept rocking and babbling and sobbing. He couldn't get the image of Dumbledore's face out of his mind, of Lupin's heart-wrenching sobs and Teddy's plaintive wail, of Draco's pale face awash with fear and begging for forgiveness. Pads vanished and Harry heard him barking at the door as more thunder cracked, driving the images, the sights, the sounds home. Suddenly, Pads was back, and someone crept up beside him. Harry felt strong arms encircling him and a soothing voice. At first he heard nothing, but the voice was insistent, cutting through Lupin's accusations, drowning out Teddy's cries.

"It's okay Harry, you're okay, nothing's going to hurt you," it said. Harry uncurled, whimpering, he looked up and saw his godfather's thin, shadowed face, a half-remembered face from when he returned from Azkaban. It was the most beautiful face in the world, a face he had longed for, a face he had attached to love for years. "You're fine, Harry, go to sleep," Sirius said, his voice hoarse.

"Si-Sir," Harry tried to say.

"It's all right, we're here," Sirius said. Harry had a fleeting moment's thought that maybe Pads was Sirius before he drifted back into sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_It's a black fly in your Chardonnay_

Streaks of bright light pierced the relative gloom of Harry's room. The warmth on his face was welcomed; the light prying his eyes open was not. Harry grumbled, trying to roll over, and found that he couldn't. Thinking Pads was behind him he stretched instead. The dog growled from the foot of the bed as he was kicked. Even half-asleep, Harry realised that this couldn't be; Pads could only be in one place at any given time. He reached out behind him: his hand touched rough jean over a sharp hip. Harry's eyes popped open, and he reached up to touch the pale, scarred arm that was thrust across his shoulder and over his face.

"Draco," Harry whispered to himself, and felt Draco tighten against him, snuggling closer. Draco's face was pressed against his neck, his feathery breath warm and wet. The rest of him pressed against Harry, his skin maddeningly cool, like a snake's. Harry tried to wriggle away, but Draco's grip was tight. Harry wriggled more until Draco groaned.

"Warm," he said.

"Draco?" Harry decided to take a different approach.

"Mm?"

"Why are you hugging me?" Harry whispered.

"Mm?"

"Why. Are you. Hugging me?"

"Hugging?" Draco's sleepy inquiry came. Suddenly he sat bolt upright, putting as much distance between himself and Harry as he could, his eyes wide.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, and before Harry could say anything he was repeating himself, a fearful moan. "I'm sorry I'm sorry, you were just screaming again and I didn't know what to do and Pads was barking and I'm so sorry."

"Draco, stop," Harry said, rubbing his face. If Draco didn't stop he'd have a headache soon. Draco stopped almost immediately, his protests dying away. He looked, again, like a depressed Basset hound. "Thanks."

"Huh?"

"I know I was freaking out last night. You helped. Thank you."

"You're not mad?"

"You helped," Harry said, as if it was obvious. It seemed obvious to him. "You calmed me down. I thought… I thought you were my godfather. Or rather, that Pads was." Draco chuckled nervously, his thin shoulders still tense. Harry ran both hands through his hair, making it stick up further, and paused at the back of his neck. It was still warm. "I just… it's not every day you wake up cuddling with men." Harry looked up at him. "A normal response would be to wake me up to calm me down, not curl up next to me."

Draco fish-mouthed for a while, but was silent, his cheeks turning pink. Harry watched him for a moment before standing up. He pulled a new pair of jeans out of his dresser and pulled them on, along with a clean shirt. When he turned around Draco was very pointedly not looking at him, his face still flushed. Harry opened the bedroom door and went to the bathroom, where he remembered to put in his contacts. After yesterday the world seemed bizarrely sharp. When he left the bathroom, Draco was scrambling eggs: he had found one of Harry's shirts to wear, a shirt with sleeves. He looked up at Harry.

"Why do you wear those?" he asked.

"What?"

"Contacts. Brown ones," Draco clarified. "I recognised you mostly from your eyes. At school, when you talked about Voldemort, you got this look. You had it last night."

"Everyone always told me I had my mother's eyes, but… I don't want them. They're not mine," he finished lamely.

"I like them," Draco said softly, turning off the stove and portioning out egg. They sat down to eat. "Harry," Draco asked around a mouth full of eggs, "what happened to your friends?"

Harry went stiff, and Draco stared at him, his eyes darting over his face. Whatever Draco saw must have scared him, because he swallowed a half-chewed mouthful of egg hard and tried to apologise.

"I _removed_ myself from them," Harry snarled, stalking back into his room. He slammed the door, and Pads whined pathetically on the other side. Harry began pacing in circles in his room, his shaking hands clasped firmly behind his head. It was ridiculous to blame Draco for anything that had happened, for asking about them, but he couldn't help it. He always blamed himself for losing them, all of them, and bringing it up after last night was not one of Draco's smartest moves. Draco knocked tentatively on the other side.

"Harry," he said. "I'm sorry." Then, "I didn't mean to bring up anything bad." His voice was growing desperate, he sounded perilously close to tears. "Please, Harry. Please. I'm so sorry." Harry opened the door and sat down on his bed, leaning on his elbows. Draco entered the room cautiously, as if afraid it might swallow him. Pads leapt onto the bed and lay down next to Harry, nipping at him in retaliation. It was silent for a very long moment, a moment where Draco remembered that he was with a powerful wizard who was very angry at the moment. A moment where Draco remembered that he only had one thing in the world.

"Harry-"

"The Weasleys were pissed at me when Fred died. Things got… nasty. Ron-" Harry chuckled cynically. "Ron's temper was fabulous. Hermione wrote me one day, telling me she couldn't see me because of him. I decided if I couldn't have the only family I knew, I wasn't going to be part of that world."

He paused, lifting his head to stare out the window, and Draco saw that he was crying, silent tears drawing pearly tracks on his dark skin.

"I lost Teddy," he said, the words forced. "I was an 'unfit parent'. He's living with his grandmother, but she wanted me to have him. She said… that Remus loved Sirius and James. He'd want Teddy to be with their son. Their, not his." Harry smiled. "She knew Sirius was as much my dad as James was, even if James was my only father. After that, I just wanted to stop. I just wanted… to stop. Suddenly I wasn't the Boy Who Lived Twice; I was the most powerful wizard around, prone to volatile mood swings and touched by dark magic. I was _dangerous_," he hissed, his tones so hateful and vehement that Draco flinched. Harry looked at Draco, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I died for them. I put myself through hell, I had no childhood, I had a broken life, for all of them. And when I wasn't a smiling, happy celebrity, they threw me aside. And people wonder why I need Pads. Even if he was the dumbest dog in the world, he loves me. He _loves me_."

Harry stopped, and Pads whined, resting his square head on Harry's lap. Harry stroked it softly. Draco stepped forward, hesitantly.

"She asked me to go," he said quietly. "She wanted me to have a chance to live. I gave everything I had up for her, so she would be happy. And then I did it again to come back and she was gone. My relationships, my school, my job, my life, everything. I wasted away on the street for three years, wondering why I had ever existed," he snorted. "I never did anything right. Even with all my schooling, I ended up in the gutter." He rubbed his arms, staring off at the wall. "I was serious, when I said Pads saved me. If you and him hadn't given me that compassion, shown me that I had chosen the right side, I'd be dead. I'd be the nameless guy in the obituaries, _Homeless Man Found Dead, Apparent Suicide._" Harry was still staring at Pads, but Draco stepped back. He vanished into the hallway and came back carrying his grungy coat. He shook it at Harry, who looked up, and reached his hand into an inner breast pocket, pulling out an innocent-looking army knife. He flipped it open. "I'm not kidding, Harry. I nearly died. Pads… he barely stopped me." He almost choked on the words, feeling a bone-deep shame. _Malfoys do not cry. Malfoys do not accept charity. Malfoys do not let the enemy see their weakness. Malfoys do not die._

Draco was surprised when a gentle hand pried the knife from his grasp. He looked down at Harry, who was looking at it with a carefully neutral face. Harry ran his thumb along the edge, the corners of his mouth turning down in a minuscule frown, and closed the knife. He balled his fist up around it until his knuckles turned white and looked up at Draco, his eyes so dark they were almost black. Draco's breath caught in his throat, partly out of fear: Harry did look dangerous.

"I'm keeping this," he said. Draco opened his mouth to protest. "No. It's no longer yours. I'm tempted to keep you away from all the cutlery, Draco."

"Why?" Draco whispered miserably. "I'm not worth it."

"You are so. You're human; you're worth it. You deserve to be happy, Draco, not… how you are." He watched as Harry slid the knife into his back pocket, and then grabbed his hands and lifted them, putting them together. "I am so glad Pads was there to help you, Draco. If he wasn't… I think I'd live the rest of my life trying to remember what it was to have faith in people. I'd be mourning for myself before I ever died. I liked helping you. Hell, I just flat out like you, Draco."

"Hero complex," Draco muttered. Harry smiled.

"Yeah, hero complex. Can't save me, gotta save the world." He led Draco to the bed and sat down beside him. Harry scrubbed a sleeve across his face and Draco realised that he hadn't stopped crying. With all the care of a mother duck tending her young he pushed Draco's hair out of his eyes and squeezed his hand. "You are worth it, Draco. Why don't you see that?" Draco stared at him, his eyes so utterly open, and Harry didn't need an answer. He sighed, letting his hand fall, not noticing when Draco leaned into his touch.

"We're both thoroughly fucked up," Harry said. He saw Draco nod in agreement. "But at least we're fucked up together. I'm being honest Draco: I like having you around. I'm not going to kick you out because I have issues. You'll leave… when you want to." Harry stared up at the ceiling. "God, I feel pathetic."

"Why?"

"Why? I don't want you to want to leave," he said, and looked back at Draco. "But you're going to get sick of me, or maybe you'll find yourself some blonde bombshell and want to get married, and then I'll be fucked up alone again." Draco mumbled something, and Harry stared at him until he repeated himself.

"I said it's unlikely."

"Why?" Harry asked. "If you don't mind my saying, you're damn good looking. The tall, charming, aristocratic type always goes over well." Draco shook his head.

"It's not that," he said. "I don't think I'll be finding any blonde bombshells."

"A brunette then. Black hair, blue eyes-"

"Green's better," Draco said distractedly, and then appeared to want to swallow his tongue. He looked sideways at Harry, whose expression was growing cross.

"Green then," Harry said testily. "The point is, you'll leave."

"Harry," Draco said, his tone resigned. "There's something I should tell you, so you can decide if you want to kick me out or not."

"What? I was just complaining that you'll leave eventually. I'm not going to kick you out."

"You might," Draco said. He worked his jaw and looked away from Harry, beginning to wring his hands. "It's just… I… you know…"

Harry looked at him, one eyebrow raised, his face taking on a confused cast as Draco fuddled through an unfinished sentence. Draco threw up his hands in exasperation and Harry watched them warily.

"You really haven't figured it out?"

"No," Harry said flatly. "What have I to figure out?"

"You bloody, ignorant, thick-headed twit!" Draco exclaimed, running his hands through his hair. Harry's eyes followed that hand; he licked his lips absently and Draco shouted, "That!" Harry only looked confused and cross again. Draco relaxed, staring at him rather openly, and said, "You really _are _that thick." Harry opened his mouth to begin a scathing response, but Draco launched himself at Harry.

Harry raised his hands to push Draco off, but found himself unable to. _Funny, _he thought, wondering why he couldn't. His head was pleasantly fuzzy. The first thing he realised was that he was gripping Draco's shirt tight enough to almost rip it. Then he noticed that he was pulling, not pushing, the other man away. Wondering why he would be tugging at Draco's clothes hard enough to tear them and pondering if, perhaps, he had been caught in some sort of adrenaline-induced time swing, he suddenly paused. With a _click_ everything fell into place. The last thing Harry realised was that Draco was kissing him rather forcefully, rather roughly, and rather passionately. When Harry realised this he made a sound in his throat, and Draco stopped.

Harry touched his face, wondering if it was gone. He pressed his forehead to the hollow of Draco's throat and groaned.

"Oh _God,_" he said.

"I'm so sorry," Draco whimpered.

"You seem to be saying that a lot lately," Harry replied, dazed. Draco started to pull away from him, but Harry had never let go of his shirt. When he noticed, he tightened his grip.

"I'll go," Draco seemed frantic. "I won't bother you."

"You're not going anywhere," Harry mumbled. Draco made a confused sound, and Harry looked up at him. "You're not. Going. Anywhere." Draco relaxed, an expression Harry could only liken to a rabbit on his face. He had never imagined people could be those shades of red and white at the same time: Draco looked like strawberries and cream.

"But, I just…"

"I know," Harry said. "You think I didn't notice?"

Draco turned uniformly pink. Harry slowly let go of his shirt and Draco stood up quickly, as if ready to run away. Harry made a frustrated ticking noise and grabbed his hand. Draco looked down at him, and when Harry stared coolly back he whimpered again and glanced away.

"Harry, please," he implored. Harry shook his head.

"If I have to tie you to a chair, you're staying here," he said, his tone brooking no nonsense. Draco looked lost for a moment.

"I can really stay?" he asked childishly. When Harry nodded Draco seemed to let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Harry stood up.

"Let's go talk."

-- -- --

"So," Harry said. He was sitting on his couch, facing Draco, his elbow propped on the back of the couch and a glass of sprite in his hand. Draco watched him from the other side of the couch, one leg folded up under himself. Pads was curled up on the armchair watching a television special on lions. Draco was tugging at his hair again. "Let me get this straight: your mother asked you to move to Canada so that any free Death Eaters couldn't find you. When you went to Quebec, you met a little Frenchman who bitched at you for leaving him-"

"For leaving the French migrants in Quebec behind," Draco amended.

"Whatever. And he somehow ended up in your pants, telling you you were gay?"

Draco nodded slightly, a blush crawling up his neck.

"How _exactly_ did he manage that?" Harry peered at him curiously.

"He was very charming. And convincing. It's kind of hard to deny that you're gay when you've been pressed up against a wall and your trousers are around your knees."

Harry let out a guffaw, and Draco turned an interesting shade of red.

"From what you've told me, he was short."

"He was," Draco said miserably. Harry laughed harder. "He also got severely pissed off when I was going to leave and cheated on me with a some bit of fluff."

"Wanker," Harry said.

"It's okay," Draco waved it off. "Look, Harry, I'm sorry I jumped on you. I mean… I forced that on you. You didn't get a choice." His face went white. "God," his voice was quiet. "It sounds like I raped you."

"You did nothing of the kind," Harry said harshly. "As I recall, I was pulling you."

"But why didn't you stop me? I saw how men treated JC before he got to me, and when they weren't gay… Well," Draco paused dramatically, "He got punched a lot." Harry made a _snerk_ sound and put his glass down. After a minute he looked Draco straight in the eye.

"The last time I went to a bar, I brought someone home. I had a freak-out because he… it… the room suddenly got very _small_," Harry's eyes trained on Draco's, boring into his skull. Draco shifted uncomfortably before he made a thoughtful face. "That's why I don't go out anymore." Draco was staring back at him now, his expression incredulous.

"Harry?"

"Yes?" Harry said, the picture of serenity.

"Did you just say _he_?"

"Yes."

Draco fish-mouthed for several seconds, his eyebrows crawling higher on his forehead until they vanished under his hair. The smug bastard was still the picture of serenity. "You _hound_!" He snarled finally.

"I told you, you didn't force anything on me," Harry said softly. "I don't understand why you had to go into histrionics, but-"

"I thought you'd kick me out!" Draco burst out. "You… why… rrr!"

"Well, I don't think it's necessary to share my sexual preferences with a homeless guy my dog plucked off the street," Harry teased. Draco growled, a mutinous look in his eye. "But that still doesn't explain it, Draco."

Draco scrunched up his face in an expression of pain, clamping his jaw shut and shaking his head. Harry lifted an eyebrow, his gaze flat, and Draco relented. "Well, Harry, you're rather stunning," he said frankly.

"Hm, that explains everything." Draco made a strangling motion with his hands, and Harry laughed. "No, I get it. Well, I don't, but I do."

"You're going to be all awkward now, aren't you?"

"No," Harry said thoughtfully. "This'll pan out how it pans out."

"All right," Draco said, his tones those of disbelief.

"Hey, Draco?" Harry asked as he stood up. "Why _Duck_?"

"Draco, Drake. Male ducks are drakes," Draco said, chuckling. "My friends figured it out."

"Why not call you… what is that?" Harry said as he walked into the kitchen. "_Canard_?"

"Because Draco starts with D, like Duck."

"Of course, how stupid of me," Harry's voice dripped sarcasm. The microwave dinged, and Harry returned with reheated Chinese food. They ate in amiable silence.

The rest of the day passed quickly. Harry and Draco rented movies and bought chips, popcorn, and random sweets from the local video store. They fell onto the couch laughing after Draco popped a movie in; the first disc of a television series Harry had never seen called _the X-Files. _They popped popcorn and piled bowls of chips and dip and sweets onto the coffee table. Pads face nearly split in two in an innocent, enormous doggy grin as he dripped all over the floor, staring at the _food_. Clearly his people wouldn't mind if he took just a few bites of popcorn, a few kernels… The bowl was upended, spraying popcorn across the floor at a crucial moment in the episode. Harry laughed as it landed inelegantly in Draco's hair.

They sat around and talked about Hogwarts, reminiscing about all the good times, following each other's actions through the war. They laughed at their mutual childish animosity towards each other in the early years, cutting half-heartedly scathing remarks at each other until Draco said, "Oo, Harry, that's a _sharp _tongue. Cut yourself much?" Of the war Harry didn't have much to explain- he had been in the Prophet, after all- but Draco detailed painful instances of abduction and torture that he had had to witness, participate in, and be the subject of. It was during this time that Pads occupied himself with keeping Draco tear-free. They watched dozens of episodes of the show, laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of some and discussing where the writers had found out about some of the more true aspects, until Harry realised that it was nearly two in the morning. He stood up, and Draco started to unfold his bed when Harry stopped him.

"No," Harry said firmly. Draco looked him in the eye and Harry's face started to burn. "I… look, I'm not expecting anything, I just… it's nice to wake up to a heartbeat."

Draco's forehead furrowed and his eyes grew worried, but nevertheless he allowed Harry to lead him down the hallway. Pads jumped into his bed, turning circles before lying down and watching with an intense curiosity as Harry shut the bedroom door and Draco started rubbing the back of his neck.

"Harry," Draco said cautiously. "Is this… smart?"

"Yes," Harry was firm, and pointing at his forehead. "This tells me nothing will happen."

"Okay…" Draco didn't sound convinced. Harry affected not to notice. He stepped back and took off his shirt, throwing it inelegantly over the lamp, where it hung like some weird animal. When Harry undid his belt and dropped his jeans on the floor in a heap, Draco made a sound that was a cross between a yelp and a whimper. Harry looked up at him, concerned.

"I…" Harry was quiet as Draco paused, pulling his shirt down. "You looked so disgusted last time." He looked so pathetic and depressed, clutching at his shirt, that Harry stepped forward and tugged it up. Draco's height made it nearly impossible for him to actually take it off, but he yanked it up forcefully anyway, leaving Draco's hair sticking up. Draco tried to comb it down and cover his chest at the same time.

"I wasn't disgusted," he said. "I was shocked, I was… sad." Harry narrowed his eyes, tracing his finger lightly over first one, then another, of the longer scars. One stretched from collarbone to ribs, the other from sternum to hip. They both tilted at the same crazy angle, but were too neat and straight to be natural "Where…"

Draco looked away.

"I did that," Harry said slowly. He didn't need Draco to tell him he was right. "Sectumsempra." Harry stopped, balling his hand up so that he wouldn't be tempted to trace anymore. A dozen like scars, pale and white, were stretched across Draco's torso, the last starting at his hip and disappearing under his jeans. He turned Draco around and pushed him gently to the bed: Draco sat down lightly, staring off into space. He grabbed Draco's shoulders and looked into his eyes, waiting for Draco to focus on him.

"I'm sorry, Draco. I had no idea it would do that," he said. "If you're really so worried, you don't have to stay here."

"I'm just scared," Draco said pitifully, rubbing at his eyes. "I don't want to fuck anything up. I've just got you, and…"

"Nothing you do will fuck this up, Draco. It can only get better," Harry said calmly.

They crawled under the blankets, Draco lying tensely on his back. Harry watched him for a moment, lacing his fingers into Draco's. No matter the wounds he had sustained in his lifetime, he was beautiful.

"Good night, Duck," he said quietly. Draco smiled. It was small, but it was there.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_It's a death row pardon two minutes too late_

Harry woke up to a lulling heartbeat. His head was on Draco's thin chest, one leg flung over the other man's and his arm across his stomach. Draco's warm breath fluttered against his forehead, one of his arms under Harry's neck and his hand buried in his hair. He looked up at Draco; his heart melting when he saw how peaceful Draco looked. The last thing he wanted to do was disturb him, so he stayed there, watching Draco sleep. Eventually, Draco's eyes fluttered open and settled on Harry's. He smiled a sleepy smile and ruffled Harry's hair.

"G'mornin'," Harry said, a yawn cracking his jaw. Draco stretched, squirming.

"Hm," he said, his features schooled carefully blank.

"What?"

"I thought you said nothing would happen?" Draco's voice was smirking, even if his face was perfectly expressionless. Harry made a face at him, wondering what he was going on about. Draco wriggled again, the smirk finally crawling out of him and making itself apparent, and Harry felt heat crawling up into his face. He tried to think disgusting thoughts, but looking up into Draco's gray eyes, it was incredibly _hard_.

"I said my brain told me nothing would happen, it's been wrong before," he said awkwardly, trying to pull away. But Draco's arm was still around his neck, and it tightened, almost choking him. Harry's eyes darted, trying to read Draco's expression: his eyes were both scared and intrigued… almost excited. Harry frowned slightly, but his heart wasn't in it. "What happened to screwing things up?" he scoffed.

"Well, I'm not prodding you," Draco retorted.

"You're not letting me stop," Harry rumbled, wriggling his shoulders.

"Do you want to?"

"Do you want me to?" They were at a standstill, staring each other in the eye boldly, challengingly. The last time Harry had seen this look in Draco's eye was the last time Madam Hooch had let the snitch go- hell, it was every time she let the snitch go. The little golden ball always whizzed into the air, teasing them like a rare animal or an itch in an awkward place, and every time his eyes fell upon Draco he was pushing himself harder, harder, his eyes determined and his jaw set. Whenever their eyes met it was a snarl and a curse, an insult and a vicious game. It had been intoxicating.

He swallowed hard, his heart beating a violent tattoo in his chest. Under his hand, Draco's heart sped up like a galloping horse. Draco's eyes were silvery, almost white. Harry reached up, he thought to brush Draco's hair out of his face, but found himself grabbing at it instead. Draco's eyes widened fractionally; he licked his lips.

Suddenly, Draco was on top of him, his arm digging painfully into Harry's back and his thin fingers tangled in Harry's hair, kissing him. It was so unexpected Harry went stiff, and Draco purred in ecstasy, catching his lip between his teeth. Harry groaned, wrapping his arms around Draco's neck and running his hands into Draco's hair, grabbing it hard enough he was sure it hurt. Draco paused, panting, his eyes shining that impossibly light colour, almost glowing. He was so perfectly clear in Harry's vision he almost laughed: no one had ever been this close to him.

"Your eyes are black," Draco said, his voice hoarse. It sent a jolt down Harry's back that made him squirm and Draco grinned wickedly.

"You're fucking-" Harry breathed, Draco's pupils contracted and dilated in quick succession. He made like he was going to pull away but Harry pulled his hair harder. "_God you're sexy_." Draco's eyes darted, a goofy grin spreading over his face, and he grunted as Harry pulled him back down.

Draco was so there. So tangible and _alive_. His cool skin made Harry's feel fevered by comparison, the hair at the back of his head clipped almost to the scalp, harsh bristles against Harry's palm. He was unbearably soft and deliciously hard in all the right places, like someone had taken a silver statue and covered it in silk. Despite, or maybe because of, the heavy jeans, Harry could feel Draco pressing against him. His muffled groans seemed to make Draco mischievous: he ground himself against Harry until his breath caught in his throat, until abruptly Draco lifted himself up just enough. Harry whined; he felt more than heard Draco laugh.

"I'm a hound?" Harry managed to say. Draco growled a response- Harry was beginning to think he was half werewolf- and nipped at Harry's jawline. Harry almost jumped and Draco nuzzled lower, nibbling on Harry's neck and throat. Harry whined again, running a hand down his back and pressing, trying to recapture the sheer and unadulterated pleasure that was Draco's body. Stars of pain exploded across his vision as Draco chomped down _hard_ on his neck. _Vampire. _Harry thought numbly.

"Not the last time I checked," Draco said, his eyes intense on Harry's. Harry's breath caught in his throat and his jaw worked. His neck was on fire, his pulse pounding at his temples, his wrists, his chest. Draco sat up slowly, straddling Harry's hips. Harry made a sound in his throat, feeling electric sparks in his core, his eyes feasting on Draco's lithe form. He drew his eyebrows together and pouted.

"What?"

"You're _nasty. _You bloody tease," Harry said, the words rolling out of the back of his throat, reaching for Draco. Draco caught his hands with a _tut-tut_ and Harry glared at him. Draco leaned over him, pinning Harry's hands against his chest. His hair fell into his eyes, partially obscuring them, his expression so full of need that the rational part of Harry's brain shut down in giddy anticipation.

"How bad do you want this?" The ghost of his words echoed in Harry's head and seemed to crawl straight down into his crotch.

"Oh God," he breathed, as Draco's finger followed that line, pausing just below his belly button. "I don't want you to do-" he hitched in a breath as Draco slid lower- "anything you don't want to."

Draco chuckled.

"Hero," he said fondly, sliding his hand into Harry's boxers. Harry groaned, his eyes rolling into his head.

"D-Duck," he managed. Draco's strokes were slow and deep and hard and going to drive him insane. He tried to clench his hands but Draco was still holding them hostage, trapped against his chest, pressing them with his weight. Draco laughed, a throaty sound, and Harry moaned, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Still a tease?"

Harry just shook his head, arching his back. Draco let go of his hands and Harry immediately reached for him, groping blindly.

"Har-ry," Draco sing-songed. Harry opened his eyes and saw Draco, his jeans unzipped, stroking himself inches above Harry. His face was flushed, and under his hair his eyes looked like those of a wild animal. Harry swallowed hard, threw his head back and groaned through gritted teeth, the image of that gaze blazed into his mind's eye. He grabbed at the sheets, his heart pounding at his temples, and came.

"Uuungh," Harry managed to say. He thought it was a word. He opened his eyes and saw Draco still looming over him, wild-eyed and sweaty, his face flushed. He felt like he'd just stood up to a tempest, his entire body buzzing numbly. With his hips Harry tipped Draco over- Draco's eyes went wide as he hit the bed- and pounced on him. Draco was tall, but Harry was strong and had more weight on him: he pinned Draco to the bed by sheer force. Draco whined and wiggled, but Harry trapped his hands and smirked at him.

"You prat," he said. "Think you can have all the fun." Draco looked confused, until Harry grabbed him and started pumping, fast. Draco's eyes widened and his mouth opened, uttering a single long, low moan. Harry growled, biting Draco's neck as fiercely as Draco had bitten his own. The pulse pounding between his teeth was almost enough to get him going again. He swept his tongue over it, feeling it speed up. Draco whimpered and let out another low, breathy moan.

"OhGod_Harry_," he said as he climaxed.

Harry laid down on top of him, relaxing utterly, heedless of the mess. He listened to Draco's heart wind down and sighed contentedly. He could get used to this, to having not just a friend but a lover, not just an easy lay but someone who genuinely cared about him. Harry blinked as the blankets at the end of the bed moved. Something was there, and it was most certainly not his duvet. Harry narrowed his eyes at it. He felt Draco turn his head with a sigh and pause.

"Harry?"

"Is that…"

Pads was watching them, a dog smile on his face. He licked his nose.

-- -- --

Harry made lunch. It was hardly-burned chicken wings and fries. Every time Harry's eyes fell on Draco's he blushed- he became very thankful of his naturally dark complexion- and had to look away. He couldn't wipe the memory of Draco's oh-so sexy eyes from his brain. As if through telepathy Draco seemed to know, and it was bloody well irritating. Draco started staring at him purposefully, bending to catch his gaze with a cheeky grin on his face. Harry hit him.

"You prat," he said. Draco laughed. Pads, feigning a moment of doggy ignorance, wound between Harry and the counter, pushing him into Draco, who caught him in a fierce hug. Draco's heart was the lull of the ocean, a bass thread in a band. Harry relaxed against him, listening, and they stayed that way for a moment before Draco dragged Harry into the living room, flipped him around, and sat down on the couch, pulling Harry into his lap with an, "Umph!"

Harry peered over his shoulder at Draco as Pads turned on the television.

"What's this?" he asked.

"You're cute when you do that," Draco said. Harry's eyebrows drew together. "Your nose." He tapped it. "It wrinkles."

"You're not answering me."

"Well," Draco's face fell. "I thought we were…"

Harry couldn't help but kiss him.

For the rest of the week, Harry found he couldn't help but kiss Draco. He couldn't help but kiss him as he dressed himself; he couldn't help but kiss him as he cooked; he especially couldn't help it when Draco came out of the shower and his wet hair hung in his face, obscuring his eyes. He couldn't help but kiss Draco when Draco threw open the curtains early in the morning, or when Draco hummed ridiculous tunes, or when Draco's childlike innocence surfaced at odd times. Harry came to love the little touches, the stuttered half-sentences, the idea of faith and fate, kismet and karma, destiny and love.

For the rest of the week, Harry couldn't remember a time when he had been happier.

-- -- --

"Harry?" Draco said one morning, as he pulled a black-and-white shirt over his head.

"Yeah?" Harry pulled his belt tight through the loops on his camouflage trousers.

"I was just wondering… did they get all the Death Eaters?"

He said it slowly and incredibly cautiously, his voice almost dying at the end. Harry thought for a moment.

"Someone called Vernes got away, but they found him a few weeks later. One of the stray Dementors had found him." Harry made a face, but it wasn't altogether remorseful for the man's demise.

"So… if I went back into the open, I'd be safe?"

"No one's looking for you, so… yeah," Harry said. "Why?"

"I wanted to get into my vault, and…" he trailed off.

"And maybe you'll be able to find your mother," Harry finished. Draco nodded.

"I haven't looked yet, I was afraid."

"It's all right," Harry said soothingly, wrapping his arms around Draco's middle. Draco made him feel ridiculously short, and also safe. He was glad to be folded into Draco's wiry arms.

They left the house early, Harry in his windcheater and Draco in his considerably less grungy overcoat. Pads walked beside Harry, happily wagging his stub as he savoured the open air. They took the tube into the heart of London, towards Diagon Alley. A small child in the station reached to pet Pads and her mother pulled her away, eyeing Harry like he might be crazy and try to snatch her daughter. Draco grabbed Harry's arm and pulled _him _away, glaring at the woman as if she had suddenly grown hooves and horns.

"Have some respect," he shouted at her. She pulled her child faster.

As they walked up the street, Draco's arm grew increasingly tighter, until Harry was sure he was losing circulation. They turned towards the Leaky Cauldron and Draco stopped dead, staring up at it.

"We can go home," Harry suggested. Draco shook his head and opened the door.

It was like stepping into a dream which you had forgotten. The Leaky Cauldron was incredibly alive and buzzing compared to the muggle world, Harry was surprised he wasn't seeing colours that didn't exist, tasting sounds and smelling the heightened emotion. They walked through, some patrons stopping their conversations to stare at Pads and then up at the two men walking him. They exited through the back door, and hit a brick wall, quite literally.

"Bollocks," Harry said. "I forgot about that."

"How do we get in?" Draco moaned. Harry opened the back door again and leaned in.

"Can anyone help us? We need to get into Diagon Alley."

A woman by the door stood up and came towards them. She reminded Harry of someone, and he found himself studying her as she opened the wall: her hair was long and dark, held in a loose ponytail over what Harry suspected was an incredible figure. As she turned, she gave him an appraising look and a sly wink and he jumped, unintentionally sliding his arm back into Draco's. She frowned, her face suddenly dark and loathsome.

"Well, thanks," Harry said quickly, dragging Draco into the hole.

"You were so blatantly obvious," Draco drawled.

"She reminded me of someone, I didn't think she'd _stare_."

"Back, you mean?" Draco teased. Harry prodded him in the ribs.

Draco stepped into Gringotts alone, zipping down to the Malfoy vault while Harry milled around with Pads in the street, staring at all the wonder he had missed. Like his eleven year-old self he ogled the new racing broom- the Altostratus- and stepped into Diagon's Honeydukes simply to inhale the scent. That earned him more than a few sideways glances. Back in the cobbled streets he tapped on a nearby window, trying to entice some purple powder-puffs with antennae to come to him, and was surprised when it tapped back. Harry looked up and saw, staring at him, George Weasley. George held up one finger: _Wait a minute._ Harry watched him come around the counter and open the door with a _ding_, apprehension an animal in his throat.

"Hello," he said. Harry's heart stopped for a moment. "They're alive, it wouldn't be fair to feed one to your dog, sir." It took Harry a moment to realise that George hadn't recognised him: he didn't want the puffs to turn into dog toys. His heart resumed it's beat as if it hadn't skipped one, but had stopped entirely for several minutes.

"I wasn't going to," Harry said. George nodded, and vanished back into his shop.

"Harry!" Draco's excited voice came. Harry turned and saw the crowd parting in zigs, some people obviously less than pleased to be shoved out of the way. Draco pressed through the last few people sideways and came to a stop by Harry, panting. "She's here, she's still alive! She moved the estate just outside London!"

"Moved the estate?"

"She's here!" Draco looked ecstatic.

"Do you want to get anything here before we go? It might be awhile before we come back," Harry said. Draco nodded quickly.

"I need a new wand, I broke mine before I left. Besides that… I don't know. I guess it depends."

"On what?" Harry asked as they stepped into Ollivander's, the smell of wood hitting them like a fist.

"Oh whether we're ready to come back to this world," Draco said softly.

Harry didn't think they would be able to avoid Ollivander's memory, and they couldn't. The man was sharp, immediately dragging Draco towards the hawthorn-unicorn wands, recalling his first.

"Oh, you silly boy, breaking a wand with a stallion tail-hair!" he clucked, pulling down boxes of wands for Draco to test. "I'll bet it shocked you good! Potter, you better still have Fawkes' tailfeather, or else I'll have to hex you on Dumbledore's behalf."

"Mister Ollivander, do you think you could keep us a secret? We… don't want any press all over us," Harry said.

"Don't worry, m'boy," Ollivander said, snatching a third wand from Draco's hand and thrusting the next in. "That foul woman's gone and the Prophet has a new editor, but I won't let it slip."

They left Ollivander's in high spirits, Draco clutching a new wand with a French unicorn's tail-hair at its core. Pads was frolicking, nipping at the air and pawing at the paving stones, trying to catch the magic he was feeling. Harry half wanted to join his dog in his antics; he had felt like capering since they had arrived. Draco didn't look surprised when Harry stepped into the owl shop, pulling one of the few galleons he had kept hidden in his closet out of his pocket. Draco pressed a quick kiss to the spot below his ear. Harry flipped his galleon over and over in his palm as he looked from owl to owl.

"Harry," Draco called, and Harry walked over to him, kneeling down to look at a barn owl standing proudly at the bottom of his cage, half of a mouse jutting out of his beak. Pads thrust his nose against the bars and sniffed, and the owl stared at him, blinking, his expression one of utter _I'm better than you_. "He's perfect." They left the shop with the owl on Draco's arm, and Harry carrying a shrunk perch-stand for him. With Draco now in possession of a wand and considerably better at apparating than Harry, they vanished with a crack from the plaza in front of Fortescue's and reappeared instantaneously in Harry's apartment.

"God, I never got used to that, and I never will."

Draco immediately pulled out a pen and paper from the bottom drawer in the kitchen and sat down at the table. He chewed on the end of the pen before writing a letter, his script flowing and precise. Harry let Pads go and went into his room. From the top shelf of his closet Harry pulled a wooden box, its varnished surface painted with intricate golden swirls that resembled a bird. He set it on the bed and stared at it, his fingers steepled.

"Harry, I sent the owl off to my mother's," Draco said giddily, entering the room. He looked at Harry, at the box, and back to Harry. Harry looked up at him.

"I left it behind," he said quietly. "But you found it so easy to bring me back. You brought me back to life, you brought me back to magic, you brought me back to… just back." Harry leaned forward and opened the box, pulling his wand out of it, where it lay on a phoenix pinfeather. Small cracks crept across the grain where it had been snapped and repaired. He gave it an experimental swish and it sparkled.

"Hello, Fawkes," Harry said. Draco had slung his arm about Harry's neck and was watching with fascination. Harry tucked his wand into his back pocket, recalling a time when Mad-Eye Moody had lectured him on the dangers of losing buttocks. So much had been lost in the war. He slid the box back into the closet and stepped back into Draco's arms, glad when they closed tightly around him. Draco's voice came, near his ear.

"Fawkes was Dumbledore's phoenix, wasn't he?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "He was at the funeral."

"I'm sorry, Harry," Draco said. Harry turned around, looking up at him. Draco was hanging his head, his hair in his eyes. "He was going to kill me if I didn't kill Dumbledore, and all Dumbledore did was offer me mercy."

"I know."

"You were there," Draco said without preamble. Harry nodded and leaned against him.

"I hated you for the longest time," Harry sighed. "But Dumbledore made me think. He believed Tom Riddle was evil, he believed hate was evil, but he didn't believe you were evil. Logically, you couldn't be." His eyes, downcast, stared off to the left. He touched Draco's arm. "Your mark is a symbol of hatred, but that doesn't make you one."

Draco was shaking. Harry gently took his face in his hands, using his thumb to wipe tears away. He looked up into stormy eyes that never failed to amaze him, and said, "You're beautiful, Draco." It was so honest and true and Harry knew that Draco could hear it as he began to nod, his head bobbing jerkily. Draco let loose a whimpering sob. So, logically, Harry took him to bed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_Isn't it ironic… don't you think?_

It was almost midnight. Harry lay on his side, facing the window, with Draco crushed against him from behind, making little whuffling noises in his sleep. Draco's arms were wrapped around Harry- one below his head, the other around his waist- and his left leg was shoved between Harry's. Draco's shirt was on the floor, Harry's was unbuttoned- although some appeared to have been ripped off- and his pants were sliding off his hips, the belt slung across the headboard and the fly undone. Pale moonlight reflected off of them, highlighting ridiculous bruises, especially at Harry's collar and Draco's hip.

An owl tapped at the window, an exasperated look in its eye. He settled on the window ledge and tapped harder. Harry opened an eye, focussed on the owl, and closed it again. The owl, thoroughly frustrated, tapped even harder: a crack spiderwebbed across the glass with a loud snapping sound. Harry jumped up, and Draco numbly pulled himself into a sitting position, one eye half-closed and pushing his hair into the air. Harry opened the window and the owl gracefully swept in, settling on one of the bedposts. He held out his leg pompously, and Draco leapt at him across the bed, untying the letter with force. The owl pecked at him, gave a low shriek, and flew to the still-open closet door, roosting there.

"She wrote back," Draco said with wonder. The scroll was sealed with purple wax, embossed with a twisting flower and flame. Draco ran his thumb over it as Harry settled behind him, wrapping his arms around Draco's waist and peeking over his shoulder. Draco broke the seal gently, as if to keep it, and unrolled his letter. The script was beautiful, and so contorted that Harry couldn't read it. It looked an awful lot like Tolkien's Elvin script, as far as Harry could see, but it made sense to Draco. His finger followed the words as he read, lips moving soundlessly. When he finished, Harry propped his chin up on Draco's shoulder.

"What did she say?"

"She's glad I wrote," Draco said, his finger underlining a sentence. Harry thought the looping script could be the word "glad". "It's the same as if your… someone else wrote she couldn't be happier to hear from me. See how the crosses blot?" Indeed, where the letters crossed over each other, the lines were thicker. "She says my father was released from Azkaban, something about proof of his betrayal to Voldemort. And that…"

"What?" Harry asked gently.

"She wants to see me." Harry kissed his neck.

"We'll go," he said.

-- -- --

"Are you sure about this?" Draco asked for the fiftieth time that evening.

"Yes, Draco," Harry said, recombing the hair that Draco had just mussed. Draco's eyes were embarrassed and grateful through Harry's fingers. "Your mother said to bring the man who helped you. As long as she doesn't try to hex Pads, we're all good."

"All right," Draco said, exhaling. Then, "But are you sure?" Harry ticked with exasperation. Draco tried a new tactic. "We look like muggles, Harry."

"Draco, we're living as muggles. We're going to look like them."

"Okay," he said. "Let's go."

Without warning Harry was apparated. He landed and stumbled forward a step, leaned over on his knees and wheezed. Pads, glibly unaffected, paraded around Harry as if to show him how to apparate. When Harry straightened, he found Draco staring ahead, rubbing his left arm, his lips moving silently. He followed his gaze: a lane of trees blazing with autumn foliage marked out a path nearly overgrown with red and white roses the size of his fist, and beyond that, Harry could see a sprawling mansion. The Malfoy family manor. Draco was home.

A house elf popped out of one of the bushes, its batlike ears quivering.

"Mistress has been awaiting you, young Master. Mistress will be pleased to see you, she will!"

Draco smiled weakly. Harry touched his arm, and Pads leaned against his leg. He looked at them both, and then dug for the ounce of Malfoy pride he had left and led them down the path. Columns and buttresses marked the front entrance; gargoyles greeted them as they walked up the steps. Harry had expected pomp, and this both exceeded his expectations and fell short. Draco hesitated before knocking with what appeared to be a silver snake knocker. Almost immediately the door swung open, and a tiny house elf bowed away, popping out of sight. It was a very classic entryway, Harry thought, with black marble floors and white staircases curving to the second floor under a vaulted ceiling painted sky blue. It was also exactly not what Harry expected of a supposedly dark house.

"Not what you expected?" Draco asked. Before Harry could answer, a lovely woman swept into the room, her velvety blue gown sweeping across the floor. Harry wondered how he could ever have thought her ugly, even her bold nose fit her face, her features elegant and pointed. Her hair, much more blonde than platinum, was done up in elegant knots at the back of her head and left to cascade in thick waves nearly to her waist.

"Draco!" she said, her voice as graceful as she was. She swept her son into a hug.

"Mother," he said against her hair, his voice muffled. When she stepped back from Draco she looked at Harry, and then at his dog. He was half expecting to be told to leave when she hugged him, too.

"I must thank you, young man, for helping my son," she said quietly, and knelt to the floor. "And this is the muggle dog who found him. I don't suppose he speaks, but thank you." Pads looked very solemn. He raised a paw to touch her knee, and then drew it back, as if to say, "I'm sorry, I forgot I walked on that." Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw Lucius Malfoy step out of the same room his wife had come from. He paused for a moment before striding purposefully towards Draco, who nervously ran a hand through his hair again, making it stick up. Lucius seemed to examine his son for a moment before folding him into a hug. Draco looked confused before returning the embrace.

"My son," Lucius said softly. He turned towards Harry, Narcissa threading her arm into his. Harry was certain now that he'd be recognised and hexed into oblivion, but Lucius simply offered him his hand. Harry shook it.

"I am Lucius Malfoy, and you have met my wife, Narcissa."

"Harry Potter," Harry said, unsure of what to say. He glanced at Draco, saw Lucius looking inquiringly at his son. Harry felt like smacking himself: he was wearing his contacts, and his scar had faded with age. "Yes, that Harry Potter. Not one of my namesakes." Lucius appeared to be at a loss for words, but Narcissa's calm smile hadn't even wobbled. The woman was made of the same silver as her son.

"Come, Lucius. I would like to hear my son's story," Narcissa said serenely. Her husband nodded and let himself be led away- much to Harry's confusion- back into the sitting room they had just appeared from. Draco and Harry followed; Pads claws clicked on the marble floor. A fire crackled in a stone hearth in this room, a hearth even taller than Draco. Harry sat in a comfortable couch and nearly sank into it, wondering for perhaps the thirtieth time what the hell a dark manor was doing with poofy furniture more suited to Horace Slughorn's tastes, white walls, and quite lovely art. Draco sat at the end of the couch, closer to his father, and Harry convinced Pads to lay down on the rug by his feet.

That was when Draco began his story. He told them everything, from attending a muggle university to his friends' birthday parties, although Harry noticed he glossed over mention of relationships or depression. Harry got to listen, again, to the disgusting way Draco was treated when he returned to London, but as he had already heard it before, it didn't inspire shock in him, only anger. He watched as Narcissa's face drained of what little colour it had, her lips compressing in a thin line. By the time Draco got to the part where Pads found him in the alley, Narcissa gave Harry such a grateful look he felt himself turning red. Draco finished his tale with finding out who Harry was- thankfully, he left out Harry's anxiety attack- and visiting Diagon Alley to track down his parents.

"You have helped my son a great deal, Mister Potter," Lucius said finally.

"It was nothing, I couldn't leave him there," Harry said honestly.

"Nonsense," Narcissa insisted. "You could have left him in the street, muggle or wizard. How many hundreds of others did?" Thankfully, Harry was rescued by the arrival of a house elf wearing a very neat silk sheet of a toga.

"Dinner is ready, Masters and Mistress," it squeaked.

Dinner was an affair. Narcissa fussed over her son, exclaiming that he was still terribly thin. Harry was glad she hadn't seen him weeks ago, when he had been almost painful to look at. They ate pheasant, which tasted to Harry like dark chicken, before retiring into a different sitting room for tea and exquisite little cakes. Pads had been treated much better than Harry had expected, as the dog had an entire bowl of thick stew to himself, eaten by Harry's foot. They chatted about rather neutral topics until the room filled with a tense air. Harry looked over at Draco, and saw Lucius reaching for Draco's arm. Draco whipped it back, looking wounded, clutching at his wrist.

"Draco," Lucius said. "Voldemort cursed the Mark."

"What?" Draco's voice was pale. He looked to his mother for confirmation and she nodded.

"If you betrayed him, even in your heart, it remains black. Those that were loyal to him until the end had it fade away," carefully, Lucius rolled his sleeve back, exposing the black tattoo on his arm. Draco clutched at his own arm harder.

"It's still there," he said quietly, as Lucius reached for him again. "Please, father, trust me."

"It is," Harry assured them. Narcissa pressed her thin fingers to her husband's knee, and he looked up at her before leaning back into his seat. Harry found that his hand was on Draco's knee, and he slid it away, trying to remain unnoticed. Draco grabbed it and squeezed absently, his marked arm across his lap. Harry could feel Draco's pulse against his wrist, pounding away.

"It is growing late, dear," Narcissa said with a small smile. "Perhaps we should allow Draco and Mister Potter to retire?" _Retire?_ Harry thought. Narcissa snapped her fingers and a house elf popped up beside her knee, bowing. "Nifty, please show my son and his friend to their rooms." _Rooms?_ He glanced at Draco, who didn't appear to be surprised.

"Good night, Draco. Mister Potter," Lucius said as the elf motioned for Draco to follow him. They did, climbing up the stairs. They followed the elf down a perfectly straight corridor, the white walls decorated with paintings of the Malfoy family through the ages. They peered and whispered as Draco passed.

"Scandalous," one old wizard scolded in dignified tones when Draco started fiddling with his hair again. A witch in a nearby painting elbowed him and smiled kindly at Draco. "Such a handsome lad."

Nifty stopped in front of a massive carved oak door.

"Master Draco, Master Potter, your rooms," he said creakily, bowed, and popped away. Draco opened the door and Harry stepped in. In contrast to the perfectly white halls of the Malfoy home, the room was a bold shade of red, the ceiling and floor paneled in oak and white crown molding. A fire crackled here as well, surrounded by bookcases with countless tomes and knick-knacks and faced by another Victorian-style poofy couch. Draco flopped into the couch and patted it, and Pads streaked off towards him and leapt up, sliming thanks on Draco's face. Draco laughed, pushing Pads away.

"Draco…" Harry began. Draco looked up at him.

"I know, I'm sorry," he said.

"You didn't look surprised."

"I wasn't," he admitted. "I figured she'd want us to stay the night."

Harry sat down beside Pads, and Draco looked wounded.

"You're going to stay, aren't you?"

Draco's eyes widened. "Harry, that's ridiculous."

"They think I helped you, that's it. Maybe we're friends. No reason for you not to stay here, on the estate named after you."

Draco made a face. "It's not named after me," he said. "What are we, anyway?" Harry peered at him. "I'm not staying," Draco finished without waiting for Harry's answer.

Harry sighed. "Where do we sleep?" Draco nodded over his shoulder.

"There are two rooms off here, this whole thing used to be mine," he said. "I had so many friends staying over, my parents added the extra room in."

"I guess I'll go to bed," Harry said softly. Before Draco could say anything Harry stood up and strode into one of the rooms, shutting the door behind himself rather forcefully. Pads looked up at Draco reproachfully, but Draco didn't notice. He was busy staring after Harry, slack-jawed, wondering what exactly had gone wrong.

Draco let the fire burn. He watched log after log magically appear on the flames, staying up well into the night. It was hypnotising to watch the fire dance, and it dragged him away from his troubles- real and perceived- for a while. He thought of his family, he thought of his actions, he thought of Harry. Draco wondered why Harry had reacted the way he had, his accusations of Draco leaving him. He had never precisely thought of leaving Harry, but in the darkest hours of the night, when he'd had an impromptu call of nature, he'd seen himself in the mirror and wondered what Harry could be attracted too. A miserable kid grown into a miserable adult; a far from perfect body with a piss-poor attitude to match. Sometimes, a dark and hideous thought had crawled into his mind, _You're just another pretty lay_. And he'd wanted to cry.

Something tugged at him and he looked down, startled, to find Pads pulling at his leg. Pads whined and dashed for the door Harry had vanished into, pawing at it. Draco followed him. Clearly, the dog was ready to go to sleep with Harry. Draco cracked the door open and Pads bolted inside, leaping onto the bed in the dark. Draco's forehead furrowed. Pads did not make a habit of leaping onto beds unless something was wrong.

Then he heard Harry whimper.

He was there as fast as Pads had been, curled up on Harry's other side. Harry was clutching his head in his hands and moaning.

"Harry, Harry, it's okay," Draco whispered, smoothing his hair out. Harry looked up at Draco for a moment, as if he was going to shout at him to go away. Unconsciously Draco drew back and Harry flung his arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

"I-I I…" he said before sobbing again. Draco shushed him and stroked his hair.

"It's okay, Harry."

"I was th-thinking 'bout you leaving," Harry sobbed against his chest. "And then I woke up and you… you weren't here, and I didn't know where I was, and…"

"Shh, Harry. I'm here."

"I-"

"Go back to sleep, Harry," Draco soothed. Harry buried his face further into Draco's chest and cried himself to sleep.

Draco and Pads soon fell asleep themselves, pressing Harry between them.

-- -- --

"Draco?" the voice was incredibly muffled and faint. Draco rolled over in his sleep, nuzzling into the back of Harry's neck. Harry was warm and soft and very much there. Pads, at the foot of the bed, snored loudly. There was a light tapping at the door.

"Mister Potter?" it was his mother's voice. _What's my mother doing in Harry's apartment?_ He thought sleepily. His mother wasn't at Harry's apartment, his brain told him, its tones those of someone talking to a very small child. They were in her house. That woke Draco up. He yawned, ran his fingers through his hair to straighten it out, and shook Harry gently. Harry made a snorting noise and buried his head under the blankets. Draco pulled them down and leaned over Harry, their noses almost touching. Harry opened his eyes and looked up at Draco, then smiled sleepily.

"G'mornin'," his voice was childishly happy. He reached up to pat Draco's hair back into place and ended up pulling Draco down into an unexpected kiss.

"Bleh," Draco said dramatically. Harry wrinkled his nose and showed his teeth with a growl. "My mother was at the door, it must be late."

Harry nodded. He got out of bed and fished his clothes off the floor, pulling them back on hurriedly. He cast a suggestive glance over his shoulder as he pulled his trousers up and Draco found himself flustered. He tried furtively to comb his hair back down and Harry laughed at him, the sound muffled as he pulled his shirt over his head.

"You know, my hair does that," he said. "Yours used to be perfect."

"Well, I couldn't really charm it tame when I broke my wand," Draco said. Harry opened the door and made a sweeping gesture, and Draco grabbed him, dragging him out at the same time. Pads bolted out the door before it clicked shut, sent himself into a flying leap and landed on the couch next to Narcissa Malfoy, whose eyes widened fractionally at the intrusion. When she looked up and saw her son exiting Harry's room, his hands around Harry's waist and wearing yesterday's wrinkled clothes, they stayed that way.

"Oh," Draco said in a very small voice. Harry swallowed.

"Missus Malfoy, I can explain," he said. "I have anxiety attacks sometimes, Draco was just trying to calm me down."

Narcissa's smile was terribly amused. She began to stroke Pads' head; for his part, the dog stared with adorable obliviousness at Harry.

"You do not raise a son like Draco and expect run-of-the-mill with him, Mister Potter," she said. Draco's mouth fell open. "Oh, please, Draco dear. Your mother is far from a fool."

"No," Draco conceded finally, his voice sounding- of all things- relieved. "She's a very sharp woman." Narcissa inclined her head, and Harry was completely lost. He looked up at Draco with confusion painted brazenly across his face and Draco looked down at him with relief in his eyes.

"Huh?" he said eloquently. Narcissa laughed richly, and Draco joined her. It just made Harry more confused, and he frowned.

"Harry," Draco laughed, and Harry's eyebrows drew together crossly. He opened his mouth to say something and Draco wrapped his arm around him and kissed him. Harry squawked.

"Come!" said Narcissa in imperious tones. "Breakfast is ready."

Breakfast was ordinary, although Harry found he couldn't look up from his plate without turning three shades of red. Draco seemed to know, because Harry could tell he was trying not to grin. Narcissa spoke about trivial topics, dragging Harry into conversations with innocent questions that he was certain had some kind of undertones. Narcissa was a deft politician, she was, and Harry found himself mentally groaning: Draco had clearly got his sense of humor from his mother. Lucius' eyes darted from his wife to his son and back to Harry, obviously aware that something was going on just because it seemed that nothing was going on. Afterwards they left, with many promises to visit again soon, and apparated back to the flat in London.

"You!" Harry snarled at Draco, rounding on him immediately, prepared to chew him out for the nasty little game of Harry ping-pong he had played with his mother. Draco stared back at him blandly, innocently, as Harry railed on him about exactly what kind of prat he was, how much of a prat he was, how his mother was a lovely woman but _what in the ever-loving fuck was going on_?! As his words drifted away, Draco's innocent smile grew wider, and Harry looked at him with alarm.

"What?"

"You're cute when you're angry."

Harry was aghast. Draco took the opportunity to snatch Harry into a hug, pinning his arms to his sides, and kiss him. When Harry came up for air he growled a curse at Draco for being so damn tall, craning his neck to look up at him. Draco's face was still too innocent-looking, but his eyes were burning with desire, paling into silver. Looking in them both scared Harry and turned him on. Surreality kicked in and he felt like he was looking into Draco's mind, seeing them entangled in the sheets. Draco's eyes were enough to get lost in.

Draco smiled slightly. Harry pulled his hands free, wrapped them around Draco's middle, and sidestepped into the hallway, pulling them both back into the bedroom. Draco's hand was under Harry's chin, tilting it upwards, the other twined into his hair, giving Harry breathtaking kisses. Harry hit the door and fumbled for the knob, nearly falling backwards when it opened, held up only by Draco. He kept backing up until the backs of his knees hit his bed, and then he pulled away from Draco, looking up into his molten silver eyes. Draco growled lightly and pushed Harry over; Harry pulled Draco down with him.

They hit the mattress and it was a frantic race. Harry reached down and tugged at Draco's shirt, pulling it up over his head, taking the opportunity when Draco's head was caught to rain kisses on his throat and neck. Harry was tempted to leave Draco tangled, but Draco had other ideas, tearing his shirt off of his head and throwing it on the floor. He bit Harry's lip in retaliation and scrabbled at his shirt, pulling the buttons heedlessly. Harry groaned against Draco's lips, arching into his touch. He grabbed Draco's wrists and rolled them both over, much to Draco's surprise. Harry pinned his arms to the mattress, a predatory look on his face.

"See how you like it," he snarled, grinding his pelvis into Draco's. Draco moaned, and Harry smirked, covering his exposed chest in kisses. It took Draco a moment to realize that Harry was kissing and nibbling his way down each and every sectumsempra scar. When he got to the last, he looked suggestively up at Draco, who suddenly noticed that he was free, but Harry Potter was unzipping his jeans, one eyebrow raised and his lips pursed. Draco swallowed as Harry opened his belt and started sliding his jeans off of his hips. They were thrown casually to the side, Draco watched them land on the dresser, and he suddenly wondered why he was thinking at all.

Draco tilted his head back, eyes shut, mouth open, and reached down to grab Harry's head. His hand tangled in Harry's hair as he bobbed up and down, and a single thought branded itself into Draco's brain: _I'm getting blown by the Boy Who Lived_. Draco giggled, the sound quickly turning into an ecstatic moan as Harry's tongue did unimaginably nimble things. He was being struck by white lightning and it was all Harry's fault, but it was so ridiculously wonderful that Draco simply didn't care. He was too busy trying to remember that up was not down and that he wasn't dreaming this; this was happening, right here, right now.

"Harry," he groaned, twisting Harry's hair in his hand. "Harry stop." But Harry didn't stop. "Harry, oh God, sto-o-o-op," Draco whined, dragging out the word. He pulled on Harry's hair and Harry stopped, looking up at him with an expression of amused mock anger.

"Why stop?" he whispered. Draco had to squeeze his eyes shut as Harry's breath ghosted across him.

"Be_cause_," Draco said emphatically. Instead of taking Draco's warning to heart, Harry grinned a feral grin and got back to work. Draco felt his toes curling up before they went pleasantly numb, and suddenly he arched his back, gasping out Harry's name.

"OhdearGodHarrydon'tstop!"

Harry chuckled, and Draco moaned as he was thrust over the edge. His hand closed on Harry's head, painfully tugging at his hair, and Harry growled, swallowing like a dying man gulped air. He nipped at Draco's hip and Draco jumped with a low moan, and then he kissed the rest of the scar. He looked up at Draco innocently, Draco's gray eyes clouded with desire, and said, "I couldn't very well ignore the best landmark on the whole trip." Draco laughed tiredly. Harry crawled back up, tracing some of the shorter scars on Draco's body, and looked up at him. "Tell me their stories," he implored. Draco blanched, but looked down at the one Harry was touching, just in the hollow of his collarbone.

"MacNair," he said quietly. Harry kissed it, moving to another.

"Greyback." Harry kissed that one too, and every other he found. He gently took Draco's wrist and looked up at him, running his finger down the length of his arm. Draco looked away.

"Me." Harry kissed them, too, before catching Draco's chin and turning him back for some real kisses, kisses that made his lips tingle and turned his stomach into a butterfly net.

"You're all kinds of wonderful," Draco whispered against Harry's forehead. Harry chuckled.

"I know. I'm Wonderboy."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_It's like rain on your wedding day_

Autumn turned to winter, the leaves falling to crunch underfoot and the crisp air sharpening until it almost stung. The weather became wet and windy, as it was wont to do in London, and when it finally began to snow in earnest- fat, wet flakes that drifted lazy spirals on the breeze, to pile in sparkling diamond heaps- twinkling lights could be seen decorating shopfronts and flat balconies. Santa Clauses with bells stood on street corners and people bustled to and fro carrying boxes and bags laden with presents. Christmas had finally come.

Harry grinned as Draco put up Christmas lights around the windows, and he applied a pair of ridiculous plush antlers to Pads' head. He could swear Pads was raising an eyebrow at him before he pawed the antlers off and sniffed at them distastefully. Harry picked them up and shook them at Pads.

"I'll tape them to your head!" he threatened. Pads growled and grabbed the antlers, jumping clear over the coffee table and dashing down the hallway into the bathroom, where Harry knew he was doing something clever and unspeakably evil to them. He chased after Pads and found him wagging his tail happily, his tongue hanging out and the antlers stuffed into the loo. Harry groaned and fished them out.

"You are made of evil," he told his dog, who squeezed between his legs and trotted back into the lounge with a smug air. Harry dropped the antlers in the garbage bin and fell onto the sofa beside Draco, who had turned the telly to Christmas specials.

"He killed them?"

"He tried to drown them," Harry answered, rolling his eyes. Draco chuckled, knuckling Pads' wrinkly forehead. The dog's face was squished up until he looked like a shar-pei, and he continued to pant happily, snorting and drooling on Draco's jeans. There was a faint tapping on the window and they looked over to see a masked owl roosting on the window ledge, nibbling at the glass as if it was terribly offensive. Harry looked at Draco, who stood up with a shrug and opened the window. The owl entered with a blast of wind, snow and "Jingle Bell Rock!" It landed with a regal bearing beside their own owl on his stand, nibbling at him affectionately. Draco untied the letter attached to the owls' leg, which was embossed with the now-familiar seal of Narcissa Malfoy. He cracked it open as he fell back into his seat beside Harry, reading it.

"The owl's a present, she says Taubolt needs a break sometimes, her name is Persephone," Draco said. "She says happy Christmas, and that she can't wait to see us tomorrow."

"Goody, Christmas with the Malfoys," Harry said, and Draco elbowed him. "I just don't see-"

"-Why we should spend all day with my parents, but Harry, it's the first time I've seen them for Christmas in nearly a decade." Draco pouted, batting his eyelashes at Harry in a fetching way. "Please?" Harry shoved him over, rested his chin on Draco's chest, and wrinkled his nose up. "Stop it, I already agreed. I just like complaining."

"Don't I know it," Draco said, ruffling Harry's hair. Harry smiled and turned his head so that he could watch television, listening to Draco's lulling heartbeat. When the eleven o'clock news was over, he felt Draco shaking his shoulder lightly. As he looked up, he saw a flash of mischief on Draco's face.

"What?"

"Let's walk Pads," Draco said, surprising Harry. "It's snowing out, and there's no one in the park. We'll go pelt each other with snowballs, or something." Harry grinned. He usually avoided the park: during the summer joggers and bikers were there, often willing to complain if a dog tried to join their sport, and mothers with children watched them as if they might be stolen at any moment. In winter, at night, the bikes were in carports, the joggers on treadmills, and the children tucked in bed under the vulture eyes of their mothers. After a moment, Harry nodded his agreement.

They pulled on their coats, and since they weren't expecting to enter any shops, Harry pulled out Pads' walking sweater. Pads seemed even more offended by the sweater than the antlers: apparently green and gold stripes weren't quite his idea of a fashion statement. He allowed Harry to put the sweater on without fuss, and then they left. Draco practically threw himself down the stairs, and in short order they were across the street, in the park.

The falling snow was covering the ground in an impeccable blanket of white, unmarred by footsteps or dirt. Harry let Pads off of his leash, and the dog took off like a rocket. He threw himself into a snowdrift and popped out the top, tongue lolling. Harry laughed, and Draco's hands found their way around his waist, his chin on the top of Harry's head. Pads leapt into the air, kicking his heels up and sending snow flying back into the air, and dashed off in a new direction.

"Am I always right?" Draco asked. Harry elbowed him lightly.

"Only occasionally." Harry crossed his ankles and sank into the snow, staring up at Draco, who blinked down at him. Harry patted the snow beside himself, and as Draco moved, he laid back, crossing his hands over his chest and staring up at the stars.

"There were more at Hogwarts," Draco said.

"You appreciate them more when you barely see them." Draco made a sound of agreement.

"They're nice," he said. "I love stars."

"You're named after some, of course you like them."

"Most purebloods are. Or flowers. It's like some weird hippie theme." Harry chuckled.

"Hippie wizards," he said, as if that explained everything, and Draco began to laugh beside him. Suddenly, Pads was there. He stepped on Harry, and then Draco, and then started tugging on Draco's hair. Draco spluttered indignantly, and Pads zipped away again.

"Oh-ho-ho," Harry moaned, clutching at his stomach. "Ow." Harry rolled onto his side, staring at Draco, whose hair was freezing into something that quite resembled a player in a hair metal band. He wrinkled his nose to stifle his laughter, which seemed to offend Draco more.

"Your dog just _molested _my hair!" Harry had to laugh at that, and with a growl, Draco pushed him over, straddling his hips, and trapped his arms against the ground. "No laughing." Harry laughed harder, so Draco did the only thing he could: he grabbed a handful of snow and stuffed it down Harry's shirt. Harry abruptly squealed, bucking his hips to try and throw Draco off of him. When that failed, he wrenched one of his hands free and thrust it up Draco's shirt. Draco shrieked.

"_OhGodyou'refuckingcold_!"

Harry laughed. His hands next found their way up by Draco's shoulder blades, between his coat and shirt. Draco leaned back over, pressing his forehead to Harry's and his hands to Harry's chest. Their eyes met, and Draco smiled.

"Happy Christmas, Harry," he said softly.

"Happy Christmas."

-- -- --

For the first time in years, Harry found himself wearing dress robes. Draco had somehow convinced him that for Christmas at such as place as Malfoy Manor, it was only appropriate. Harry plucked aimlessly at the forest-green cloak, wondering what had possessed him to allow Draco to have the damnable thing _embroidered_ with gold… dragons? Harry laughed. Draco came back into the room, for once combing his hair with an actual comb. It looked almost tame, though it was hanging into his eyes and Harry wasn't sure if he'd be able to keep himself calm if Draco weren't to fix it properly.

"You like them?" Draco asked, and Harry nodded agreement before he realised that Draco was referring to his clothes.

"Oh, yeah," Draco looked at him oddly, but Harry was back to staring at him longingly. "Harry," Draco said in warning tones. "Harry!" Harry shook his head, his hair flying wildly. When he stopped, a confused look on his face, his eyes found Draco's and he grinned innocently. Draco threw up his hands in exasperation. He rubbed his forehead, successfully mussing his hair up again, and gave Harry a beseeching look. "Please, Harry, behave. My mother likes you- I have no _idea _why- so don't… Do anything silly?" Harry stood up and walked towards Draco, threading his arms into the cloak and around Draco's waist. He smiled up at him.

"I'm nothing more than arm-candy," he said sweetly. Draco laughed and kissed his forehead.

"Where's Pads?" Draco asked. "I'd like to go now, before you get any ideas."

Harry gave him a, _Who, me? _look and whistled for Pads, who bolted down the hallway, a cheerful grin on his face. Even Pads had been subjected to dressiness, a ridiculous bow-tie attached to his collar. He didn't seem to mind that as much as the antlers, much to Harry's displeasure. Harry grabbed Pads' leash and held him firmly at a heel, almost on his feet, his arm still around Draco's waist. Draco extracted his wand from somewhere in the cloak and apparated them with a smart _crack._

The trees along the walk had been decorated with fairy lights, which sparkled off the multifaceted ice, and the roses had been frozen stiff in mid-bloom, shiny and red on the leafless bushes. They strolled down the path, Harry carefully extricating himself from Draco's grasp before they reached the door, which opened of its own accord, Nifty the house elf beaming up at them from within. Nifty beckoned them in and vanished as they shook the snow from their cloaks and Pads just shook himself, but Harry was shocked at how Christmassy Malfoy Manor felt. The banisters were twined with live garlands, and cheery red candles floated on the air.

Narcissa Malfoy appeared at the balcony of the upper floor.

"Draco!" she cried warmly, cheerfully, sweeping down the stairs, her gown a vibrant red and tiny white blossoms caught in her hair, which was unbound and so fell past her knees. Draco rushed forward to meet her in a fierce hug. Harry knew that hanging back was altogether pointless by now, as Narcissa insisted on hugging the both of them and shaking Pads' paw before anything else happened. Draco chuckled as Harry gave him a look over his mother's shoulder. Before she had even let go of Harry Pads had his foot in the air, ready for his cue. Narcissa laughed at that, a lovely, tinkling sound.

"We will be meeting in the library," Narcissa told him, and with a flourish of his cloak Harry held out his arm for her. Draco laughed as Narcissa took it, tapping Harry's face with a delicate forefinger. "If you'd shave, lad, and maybe if you were a little older, but as it is…" Harry couldn't help but chuckle. He let Narcissa lead, even though he knew the way, Draco walking on her other side. Harry tapped his leg and Pads trotted to keep up, his nose in the air as if he understood the need for pomp.

The Malfoy library wasn't just a library; it was a bloody museum. Hanging from the ceiling was a dragon skeleton, and the floor-to-ceiling shelves were filled with books and artefacts and nooks that housed tall vases and stuffed, or maybe paused, magical creatures. Most interesting, Harry noticed, was the glass vivarium set into the wall opposite the door, with brightly coloured fishes in the water, red toads in the mud, and a pair of thin green snakes hanging from a miniature tree. Harry turned to look around the room again, and saw, in the corner, an enormous pine tree, covered in fairy lights and candles and garlands and tinsel, sparkly and perfect and very Malfoy in its construction.

Lucius Malfoy was watching his snakes, a tumbler in his hand. When Narcissa cleared her throat- Draco closing the heavy doors behind them- he turned around, holding out his hand to Narcissa with a smile on his face. She took it, and he twirled her towards himself before kissing her. Harry fought the urge to say _Awwwww. _He grinned at Draco, who grinned back and reached for his hand, tugging him towards the comfortable sofaes. Harry fell into one, throwing his arm over the back of the sofa. Pads laid down rather happily on the rug, pulling his toes up and away from the cold marble floors. Lucius swilled his tumbler, letting Narcissa pull him into the sofa in much the same was as Draco had. He exchanged a look with Harry, and then seemed to wonder why he had done that.

"Happy Christmas, Mister Malfoy," Harry said cheerfully. Lucius saluted Harry with his glass, and Harry started to wonder just how many he had gone through. It was rather hard to tell with a Malfoy.

"And to you, Mister Potter," Lucius said, still gesturing with his glass. Narcissa laughed, stealing the tumbler before it could reach his lips and inspecting it with great curiosity. She peered at Harry and Draco over the rim before taking a sip, and Lucius Malfoy gave her a falsely cross smile. Narcissa appeared to have no intention on giving Lucius back his brandy.

"Did you get the presents we sent over?" Draco asked, absently picking at the stitching on his cloak. Narcissa made a hemming sound and said, "Of course. Taubolt is a fabulous owl."

"Your mother insisted on putting up the whole tree," Lucius said. "Something about a proper family Christmas."

"Well of course," Narcissa said, as if it were obvious. "Family Christmases need heirloom baubles!"

"Oh, how I wish for heirloom baubles," Harry said wistfully. Both Narcissa and Draco laughed at that, and Lucius tried to sneak his tumbler back, but Narcissa managed to keep it away from him without appearing to be playing keep-away. She caught Harry's eye and smiled, and Harry almost thought it was sad.

"So, Harry," Narcissa said with great calmness, "When are you going to make an honest man of my son?" Harry's eyes went wide and beside him Draco made a choking sound. Narcissa's smile was small and sly, her face resembling that of an arctic fox, all ice and stealth. Harry's eyes darted to Lucius, who appeared nonplussed by the situation and was trying, again, to get his glass back. Narcissa almost carelessly held it towards him, as if motioning with it. "Working, Harry. I'm afraid I rather spoiled Draco, he needs a nice stable life now." Draco whooped out a coughing breath and Harry relaxed, feeling his brain restart. Lucius took the distraction to steal his tumbler.

"Oh," Harry said in a small voice, and cleared his throat. "Oh, well, it's up to Draco."

Narcissa turned her gaze to Draco, whose face was still red. "I, uh, I'm not sure what I could _do, _exactly."

"Saint Mungo's," Lucius said, surprising them all. He sipped his brandy and sighed. "You've experience as a muggle Healer, after all."

"It was psychiatry, father, not Healing," Draco replied.

"I am aware of some of these quaint muggle practices, Draco. Psychiatry could be helpful to muggleborns, or you could apply it to magical diseases of the mind. Have you thought of the possibilities?"

"I haven't," Draco admitted with a shrug, glancing at Harry. His expression was very, _Hey, why not? _Harry smiled back at him.

"Although, that would mean coming back to us," Narcissa said softly, and Harry knew what she meant. Back to this world, their world, a world they had left some years ago. A world Harry had always missed, though he didn't recognize it at the time. Harry nodded his agreement, and Narcissa went on. "There are some lovely flats in Diagon Alley, and I've heard of homes in Hogsmeade-"

"I have a house, actually."

She looked at Harry with some surprise, and even Draco eyed him askance. Lucius appeared to be absorbed in his brandy again, lightly tapping the crystal embellishments on the side of the glass. From the silence it was obvious Harry wouldn't get away without describing Grimmauld Place.

"I believe you know it as the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Misses Malfoy," Harry said, and Narcissa smiled. "My godfather left it to me, and the Order of the Phoenix used it as headquarters during the war, but I never went back. It must still be mine, though, because last time I checked, I'm not dead." Harry knew he had made Narcissa's year, by the way she was smiling at him. He was immediately dragged into a conversation about cleaning up Grimmauld Place, what it would take to remove Missus Black from the wall, destroying the dark artefacts, and exactly why two unmarried men should not be allowed to decorate the place on their own.

To that, Draco said an indignant, "I beg your pardon, I still have a sense of taste!" His eyes flitted to Harry. "Although him…"

Harry resisted the urge to smack him, or make a ridiculous face. "I can't help it if my armchair is a bit-"

"Old and squeaky?"

"-Loved."

It was then that a tiny house elf announced that dinner was being served in the dining hall, sirs and miss, and vanished as was appropriate. Harry was hardly expecting the feast he was presented with: a flock of tiny Cornish hens, piles of vegetables, and French food that Harry couldn't put names to surrounded the traditional turkey. It almost rivalled the meals he remembered from Hogwarts, although there it was food to fill a teenager, not exactly adult. Like every meal he'd eaten at Malfoy Manor, it was delicious. Over dinner, Draco seemed to catch up with his father, balancing a wineglass precariously between his long fingers. As they returned to the library, Harry found out exactly why Lucius allowed himself to be lead by the nose: it seemed impossible to keep a Malfoy man in line without having a hand on him, and Harry exchanged an exasperated look with Narcissa, who appeared terribly amused.

Harry fell back into his seat, but Draco scrabbled about under the tree, extracting an armload of presents and depositing them squarely into Harry's lap. Harry went _Oomph _at the intrusion, trying to rearrange them so that corners weren't threatening anything important. It was Draco, whining and giggling like a child, that coerced them into opening presents, pretty much all of which were located on Harry. Harry found it almost impossible to gain control of the conversation, as Narcissa plowed on with plans for Grimmauld Place and Draco agreed to them readily, an almost lopsided smile plastered on his face. The night grew old, and Draco began using Harry's armpit as a pillow. It was when he tried to fall asleep on Harry that Harry decided to call it a night. They bid adieu to Draco's parents before Harry chanced to apparate them home.

Where Draco promptly fell onto the bed and refused to get up. He tried to burrow into the mattress as Harry attempted to undress him, swatting Harry's hands away and grumbling sleepily. Eventually Harry gave up, and Draco went to sleep with his shirt and one sock still on. Harry curled up beside him, wrapped his arms around Draco and buried his face in his back, enjoying the warmth, the scent of Draco. He smiled.

"Happy Christmas, Duckling."

"Happy Christmas, Wonderboy," Draco mumbled back.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

_It's a free ride when you've already paid_

It didn't take any substantial amount of time for Harry to find himself on the front step of Grimmauld Place, number 11 to the left and number 13 to the right, still defiantly playing loud music. He stared at the doorknob, his forehead creased, on pause. The last time he had been at this door, his hand on the knob, he had been here to fight Voldemort. It seemed that was all he had ever done, really, every waking moment that he was part of the magical world. _He's gone for good, _Harry rationalised with himself. There would be no more fighting; it was safe to go inside. Draco's hand was on his shoulder, his expression concerned. Harry managed a tight smile before he unlocked the door. It swung open, tapping lightly against the wall, and Harry looked into the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. It was dark and dreary.

"_Lumos_," Harry muttered, hoping to keep the hall painting from shrieking like a banshee.

"It stinks," Draco observed.

"It's musty, Draco. No one's been here in a while." Harry took a step forward, his foot bumping into something, and directed his light towards it. The umbrella stand, lying on its side, its horny toes pointed towards the roof.

"Is that a _troll _foot?"

Harry couldn't answer, recalling how often Nymphadora Tonks had tripped over the damned thing and woken up Missus Black. Remembering Tonks, he remembered Lupin, which inevitably lead to Teddy, living with his grandmother. Teddy would be entering Hogwarts next year. Harry righted the ugly foot, using the opportunity to scrub at his eyes, and stood himself up again. He pushed the door to the sitting room open, and it creaked ominously as it swung inwards, revealing moth-eaten sofas and rugs and a coffee table leaning on three legs. The dusty fireplace at the other end was black, vanishing into the shadows. The next door, just beside the covered painting, lead to the library, bare of the books and knick-knacks Harry was used to seeing on shelves. The kitchen was in a dreadful state of disrepair, and the stairs groaned under his and Draco's combined weight as they climbed to the upper levels.

"It's so… Unwanted," Harry said, as room after room turned out bleak and rotten.

"But we can get it fixed up," Draco replied, and Harry nodded.

And they did. Three days later, Narcissa Malfoy had gone through Grimmauld Place with the delicate touch of a hurricane, ripping out everything rotten and unsavoury, everything that couldn't be rescued from decay. Piles of garbage were being Vanished from Harry's new lounge, much to Missus Black's dismay. She made sure to inform them all in her characteristically sweet and charming voice that, "FILTHY BLOOD TRAITORS! DETROYING MY MOST NOBLE HOME, TURNING IT INTO A PLACE OF MUDBLOOD BUGGERY AND-" Narcissa managed to shut her up, pinning the curtains together with a spell, but muffled shrieks of indignant outrage could still be heard from behind them as they flapped. Narcissa moved a veritable army of house elves into the house, where they set about scrubbing and shining, polishing and cleaning, rebuilding things that Narcissa had deemed able to be saved. Grimmauld Place emptied of trash, and while Harry knew it would never be sparkly, it looked much better with a bit of buff and polish.

He grinned as Pads grumbled and woofed at the curtain, bouncing back and forth with his rear in the air, finding his argument with Misses Black terribly entertaining. Draco shuttled past him going up the stairs, his hair sticking up and a smudge of dirt on his cheek, Levitating the last broken-down bed from the upstairs. He looked rather bewildered: this was the most magic either had used in ages, and Draco appeared to have a pretty rebellious wand. It preferred to explode rubbish, rather than Vanish it.

"Why aren't you floating things?" he asked as the bed did just that, landing neatly in the middle of the sitting room.

"Manual labour is good," Harry said. "Plus I'd like to keep Fawkes for a while longer yet, I'd rather not chance blowing him up."

"Interesting choice of pronouns, Harry," Draco said, and Harry looked at him curiously, setting his box on top of the bed. "Referring to your wand as a he. It's really quite phallic imagery."

"Draco!" Harry burst out laughing. "I'll show you some phallic imagery," he growled through his chuckles, sidling up to Draco and wrapping his arms around him, about to pin him to the wall when an icy and amused voice said, "Now, now, boys." Draco's stared sideways at his mother, frozen in place, and turned pink. Harry followed his gaze, his face the picture of innocence even though his hip was pressed into Draco's groin area. Narcissa was Levitating mouldy curtains down the stairs, holding them out several feet ahead of herself.

"This is the last of it," she said calmly, as if Draco wasn't still caught against the doorjamb in Harry's arms. She slipped past them, set the curtains on the pile of rubbish, and set the whole thing up in purple flames, Vanishing the dust away. She then turned and made a shooing motion with her hands, looking rather imperious.

"Out!" she commanded. "I've the decorators coming soon. Fetch yourself some little things, but let the rest to us. We're professionals."

"Thanks, Missus Malfoy," Harry said, and she shook her hands, dispelling his words.

"Narcissa, Harry, and there is no need to thank me. You've helped Draco, made him happy, brought him back to us," she said, "the very least I can do is have him living in style."

Draco opened his mouth, undoubtedly to complain yet again that he still had a sense of taste, when Narcissa pointed sternly to the door. "Go! And if you come back before I call you, you had better be hexed into little pieces, or you will be." So they went, Draco apparating the three of them before they had even left the front step. One moment Harry was staring across the street, and the next Fortescue's ice cream parlour was in front of him and he stumbled mid-step. Harry glared at Draco from under his fringe, leaning over on his knees and trying to calm his stomach down. Pads wiggled against his leg, almost knocking him over.

"You really should learn how to apparate properly, Harry," Draco told him. Harry growled.

"Funny," he deadpanned.

He straightened himself out and brushed himself off pompously, trying to buy a few minutes more of standing still before he realised he was just rubbing the dirt further into his shirt. With a grumble he wrapped Pads' leash around his wrist and tugged Draco into a trot. They wandered into the street and were swept up in the crowd. Harry's eyes positively roved, taking in everything he had never become used to and always missed. It was Draco who dragged Harry into the Quidditch shop. It smelled of wood and broom polish and leather, a comforting smell that brought Harry back to the pitch. He would have been content to stand there inhaling all day, but Draco dragged him towards the Altostratuses propped up against the wall.

"We have a back garden now, Harry," he said hopefully. Harry rolled his eyes, but picked up the broom, hefting it. It was ridiculously light, he was afraid he might snap it if he closed his fist any further.

"Bit light," he remarked, and Draco shrugged, picking at the neatly trimmed twigs at the end.

"It's birch, of course it's light," Draco said. "It's got a nice frame though, lean and speedy."

"Sounds familiar."

Draco made a face. "Come on, Harry."

Harry rolled his eyes, but nodded. Before he had actually had a chance to agree an associate leapt at the chance to help them. Obviously, he thought they had money, from their well-tailored cloaks and the fact that they were balancing the most expensive brooms in the shop against their shoulders, because he began outfitting them in the most expensive padding and equipment. Harry couldn't believe they'd need all of this: maybe if they'd need to take on a herd of elephants on brooms that were most definitely not the Altostratus, but not if they were playing for fun. Despite his reservations about the broom, they left the shop with bags of Quidditch things and a pair of Altostratuses. Harry was glad of the padded gloves, however, because Diagon Alley was _cold_. He snugged them on, then pretended to punch Draco in the nose.

"Harry," Draco groaned, rolling his eyes. But Harry didn't notice: his action had turned him about, and Harry saw the large expanse of open, sparkly space just before Gringott's bank. What had caught his attention wasn't the space, but the people on it. He shoved his broom at Draco, deaf to his inquiries as to what Harry was staring at, and Harry bolted towards the people. Pads was dragged after him, but he caught up and dashed ahead of Harry, thinking it was a game. Harry barely realised his dog was following him, just that the man standing there was of a height with Draco and had way too _red_ hair, and the woman with him had way too _much_ hair.

"Hermione! Ron!" he shouted, skidding to a stop before them. Pads, however, didn't stop running: he bowled into Ron, planting his feet firmly on Ron's upper legs and leaping up at him. Ron held his arms out to catch the dog, and then seemed to rethink it and swatted him to the ground. Hermione turned around, her expression becoming tetchy and confused.

"Excuse me?" Hermione asked, sounding more than a bit angry.

"It's me!" Harry said, and then shook his head to get his hair out of his eyes. "Harry."

Hermione stared at him like he was insane. She glanced up at Ron, her hand seeking his, but he crossed his arms over his substantial chest and glared daggers at Harry, trying- of all things- to loom. He wasn't far off, either.

"I'm sorry…" she began, and Harry felt like smacking himself.

"I'm wearing contact lenses, Hermione. It's me. It's Harry." She still looked doubtful. Harry made an exasperated noise, knowing there was only one way to get this done, and that he would really, _really_ regret this later. He rolled his eyes up and popped one of his contacts out, blinking against the cold and sudden blurriness of the world, his brain trying to get it slid back into place. Hermione stared at him, and then her face broke into an excited grin.

"Harry!"

"Yes!" he said, and Hermione enveloped him in a winter hug, complete with wool scarf in the mouth. His contact lens sailed away.

"Where have you been?" Hermione scolded as she drew back.

"Er…" Harry said, trying to get the fuzz out of his mouth. "A flat in London. I got tired of-" he waved his hand by way of explanation.

"It's okay," Hermione smiled warmly.

"And you?"

"Here and there," Hermione said dismissively, with a wave of her mittened hand.

"We got married," Ron said gruffly, and Hermione obligingly pulled off a mitten and show Harry her ring. It was rather large and sparkly, and Ron looked very smug, his eyes daring Harry to test him. Harry was rather thrown off by Ron's expression.

"That's awesome. Who didn't see it coming?" Ron's eyes had gone dark and hooded, and Harry looked back at Hermione, who appeared just slightly shocked and was staring off behind him, rather than at him. Harry half-turned his head when a hand landed lightly on his shoulder and slid off. Harry looked up at Draco, balancing the brooms on his shoulder; Draco looked down at a rapidly blinking Harry and arched an eyebrow, amused at his owlish expression.

"Oh, er," Harry said, as loquacious as ever. "This is Draco."

Draco held his free hand out to Hermione, looking just slightly awkward as he tried not to trip over Harry and keep the brooms from squishing him. She took it hesitantly, her eyes asking Harry if it was safe or if they had all just gone insane.

"Hello, Hermione," Draco's voice was pleasant.

"Hello… Draco," Hermione said finally. Ron gave Draco a murderous look: there was something beyond teenage drama in his eyes that made Harry do a double-take. Harry tilted his hand and touched Draco's arm, a silent warning. Draco seemed to get it; he let go of Hermione's hand at once and readjusted his cloak.

"You're married?"

"Yes," Hermione replied.

"Congratulations." Hermione seemed taken aback. Her eyes flitted from Draco to Harry, one eyebrow raised and the unasked question of, _What did you _do_ to Draco Malfoy? _playing in her brown eyes.

"Mummy!" something small and pink ran into Hermione's legs, pushing past Pads. Pads stared at it, his eyes going comically wide before he grinned a huge grin and wagged his entire rear end. "Mummythere'sadogcanIpetit?" Harry wondered if he had ever, with childlike wonder, succeeded in speaking without breathing. The little girl had a shocking amount of short, curly reddish-brown hair that seemed to be trying to eat her bobble hat. Hermione sent Harry a questioning glance.

"Sure, he's nice," Harry said, and the little girl lunged for Pads, patting his face. Pads made little happy grumbly noises and tried to lick her.

"He's an idiot, how do we know he won't bite her?" Ron growled.

"That dog is far smarter than we were when we were kids, Ronald," Draco said flatly. Ron's lip twisted into an ugly grimace. Harry reached for Draco's free hand, threading his bare fingers and leathered palm against it, unsure whether it was to stop Draco from doing anything stupid and childish or if, perhaps, Ron was scaring him. Hermione's head tilted, her smile suddenly seeming very forced.

"He seems like a lovely dog. What's his name?"

"Pads," Harry said. Hermione's eyes twinkled.

"I suppose next you'll tell me your owl is named Moony, or perhaps you've a hedgehog named Prongs and a snake named Tail?"

Harry laughed. "Nope, I've just got Pads. Well, and Taubolt and Persephone. My owls," he finished, answering Hermione's unasked question.

"Our owls," Draco corrected.

"Right."

"You… live together?" Hermione's tones were those of disbelief. Ron finally uncrossed his arms, wrapping one possessively around Hermione's shoulders. "I thought just coexisting in the same space without some kind of disaster occurring was as far as it went."

"It is _such _a long story, winter would be over by the time I finished."

"Well," Hermione said, reaching into her handbag. She pulled out the tiniest quill Harry had ever seen and a scrap of parchment. "Here's our address," she said as she scrawled on the parchment. "Owl us sometime, and you can tell us." Ron made a disgusted sound as Harry took the paper, stuffing it into his pocket. Her coat was wrinkling from the force that Ron was exerting on her shoulder, his eyes reminded Harry of a fish: cold, calculating, and certain of something inevitable.

"Come on, Hermione," he almost snapped, turning on his heel to storm away. Hermione took her little girl's hand and waved good-bye to Harry before following her husband. Rather, she was pulled along by him, but it seemed to Harry that she was following anyway. Harry looked up at Draco, concerned.

"Did he seem a little…"

"Really pissed off? Yes, he did." Draco shuffled the brooms.

"Maybe he's just having a bad day," Harry reasoned.

"Do you really know Ron anymore, Harry?" Harry had to shake his head. "Then how do you know he's not just a pillock?" He gazed up at Draco, a frown on his face. Brash, jealous, insecure and touchy came to mind when he thought of Ronald Weasley, not pillock. Then again, he had used to apply arrogant and idiot to Draco Malfoy, and that was quite far off the mark.

"We're going," Draco said, interrupting Harry's brooding. "Mother's had enough time." Harry tilted his head, his expression still concerned, when Draco tipped the brooms onto his shoulder. Harry balanced them precariously there, as they were almost taller than he was. "Prepare yourself! My mother could have painted the entire house pink, or covered it in leopard fur," he warned. Harry barely had time to nod and gather Pads up before he was apparated, and promptly dropped the brooms with a clatter on the steps.

"Bollocks," Harry said through gritted teeth, bending to gather them up. When he had them tilted across his shoulder again Draco practically tripped him dragging him up the front steps and into the house, almost slamming the door behind them. The first thing Harry noticed was how not _gray_ Grimmauld Place was now. It was, as far as Harry could see, gold, although the dim light muted it to tan. Second was the quiet: Missus Black had been successfully removed, replaced with a lovely painting of a night sky where something winged and dark was flying around. The sitting room doors had been replaced, set with panes of glass with white stained glass lilies at their hearts.

"Wow," was all Harry could say as he took in the room. Narcissa had somehow moved, repaired and reupholstered his creaky old furniture, and they fit with the décor rather nicely. Narcissa- or the elves- were obviously unsure how to hook up a television: it was shoved unceremoniously into a corner, the wires piled on top of it, but Harry didn't care. He just wanted to fall into his chair and hug it. It might suddenly be green, but it was quite possibly the best thing in the room. Pads recognised his sofa and tugged his leash out of Harry's grip, throwing himself onto it and dragging his tongue with a long, luxurious lick over the arm. Harry laughed at him.

"I suppose that means he likes it?" Narcissa's voice came from behind them. She looked very pleased with herself.

"Most definitely," Harry assured her. "He only licks the best."

Pads, still paused mid-lick, sneezed, then made a face that was the doggy equivalent of, _Sir, I have a carpet in my mouth, please fetch me a toothbrush. _

"But do you?"

"Of course!" Harry said, at the same time Draco said, "How couldn't I?"

"You fixed my armchair, you managed to salvage the one thing I really wanted salvaged."

Narcissa tapped a long finger against her lips. "I thought you'd both appreciate the colour scheme," she said. "My decorator wanted to go with mauve. Awful colour, mauve." Some distant part of Harry recalled that mauve was a shade of purple, and he nodded in agreement.

"If the whole thing is this nice, I think I'll have to faint. Grimmauld Place has never looked this good." Narcissa's face took on a rather sad cast, as she ran a thumb along the raised welding that held the stained glass lily to the door.

"It did, once," she said quietly. "Well, I'll just leave you boys to discover your new abode in peace, shall I?"

After denials of tea and thank yous and good-byes and more thank yous, Narcissa apparated herself from Grimmauld Place with a small _pop_. Harry sank into his armchair, glad to just enjoy sitting in his favourite piece of furniture, and Draco sank into Harry with a contented groan. Pads had placed himself over the entire sofa, laying on his back and scratching himself on the upholstery. Harry wrapped an arm around Draco, examining the room. Above the sofa were several small, unobtrusive wizard photographs: the first of Remus, Sirius and James; then James and Lily dancing beneath the falling snow; an old family photo of the Malfoys, where a teenage Draco glared at his older self; and a newer of Narcissa and Lucius alone, all pleasant smiles; the next was of Regulus and Sirius, sulking to be made to pose together, and the last of the Black girls, laughing over something trivial. Draco, too, peered up at the photos.

"Teenage Draco is even a tosser to me," he observed, as the photo patted its hair back into place with a feeling of superiority. Harry laughed.

"It feels right to have them up there," he said. "How did your mother know they'd fit?"

Draco gave Harry a look that said, _Stop underestimating Narcissa Malfoy, _and Harry took it to mind to listen to that look. Instead of responding, he dragged Draco into as long and luxurious a kiss as Pads had recently given his sofa. Draco came up for air, his wide gray eyes full of innocence, and his hair hanging into his face. He shook his head, appearing to try and get it away, and succeeding in inviting more to the party. Harry grinned.

"Dangerous," he stated. Draco smirked.

"Didn't I tell you? Danger is my favourite game."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

_It's the good advice that you just didn't take_

Where Harry's flat had once been a home he had never thought he could bear to leave, Grimmauld Place suddenly became a home he had never wanted to leave. Privet Drive had never been home, because homes had love; Hogwarts couldn't really be home, because it was a school; the Burrow wasn't home, because it wasn't part of his family; but Grimmauld Place was. Grimmauld Place had belonged to the Blacks, passed to Sirius Black, and Sirius Black was Harry's godfather. It was home. It was a promise made by a man some fifteen years earlier, a promise he had been incapable of fulfilling. Harry found himself making promises to the lonely walls, to himself, to Draco. Promises he desperately wanted to keep.

They found a house-elf under the stairs one day, a smallish thing with enormous green eyes and a hooked nose. If it wasn't so little, Harry would have mistaken it for Kreacher, but it quickly informed them that, "I is being Kreacher's daughter. I is being told to wait to serve the Blackses. Is sir a Black?" So they had someone to clean up when Pads drooled somewhere, or when Harry found himself dropping flour all over the kitchen while he made pizza, or when Draco stubbed his toe on the troll's foot- why Narcissa had left it behind, they hadn't the faintest- and someone needed to pick up the umbrellas while he swore at his foot, the stairs, the floor, the stand, and probably least deserving of all, the front door.

It was almost a week later that Harry found Hermione's address in his cloak pocket. With some very careful consideration he penned her a letter, attached it to Taubolt- he was excellent at finding unexpected things- and sent the bird out into the sky. Persephone pined. She turned her moon-like face to Harry, pinned him with unblinking black eyes, and simply stared at him, nibbling at the air. If Harry could read her mind, he was certain he wouldn't like it. With a nervous chuckle he left the attic where the birds roosted and planted himself in the library, fiddling with a book. Draco found him sitting in a chair by the window, absently looking at the book, which was held upside down. He grabbed it, flipped it over before Harry had a chance to say anything, and put it back in his hands with a grin. Harry made an embarrassed face.

"She'll write back," Draco assured him. "Why wouldn't she?"

"It's just been so long, you know?" Harry said, dropping the book in his lap and rubbing the back of his neck. "What if… she just didn't want to make a scene at Gringott's? Maybe she's still angry."

"Harry, she looked anything but angry." But Harry was still scruffing himself, his unfocused gaze now fixed on the ceiling. Draco waved a hand in his field of vision and Harry didn't even blink.

"You need a distraction," Draco said, and Harry nodded absentmindedly, still inspecting the ceiling with great interest. With a shake of his head Draco eased himself into the chair with Harry, sinking the other man deeper into the plush blue velvet. Harry's eyes went to saucers and he wiggled uncomfortably, looking up at Draco through his hair. Draco was bracing himself against the back of the chair, trapping Harry's head, and leaning over him just so. Harry temporarily forgot how to think.

"Draco, wha…" he breathed.

"I _said_," Draco growled, his eyes glittering. "You need a distraction."

"Oh." Draco laughed. He leaned closer, a bare inch away from Harry. Harry tilted his face upwards, his expression almost lost.

"I'm _good _at distracting," Draco whispered. Harry nodded, making a series of agreeing sounds as one of Draco's hands pressed against his chest. Draco cocked his head, more of his long, blonde hair falling into his face, grinning wickedly. Harry dug his fingers into the arms of his chair; it was all he could do not to shag Draco straight into the wall. Draco's hand began to slide down Harry's abdomen, his deft fingers opening Harry's trousers before slipping beneath the waistband. Harry exhaled sharply, and then…

There was a fierce tapping at the window. Harry jumped out of his chair, depositing Draco in a sprawling heap to the floor. Harry's trousers tried to follow, but he somehow managed to hold them up. Draco propped himself up on his elbows, blinking bewilderedly up at Harry as he threw open the window and Taubolt swooped in. The owl landed on a globe, preening himself pompously as Harry tripped over Draco to get to him. When Harry touched the globe it spun and Taubolt shrieked, batting Harry with his wings. Harry tore the letter attached to Taubolt's leg off, and the bird took off into the air, vanishing up the stairs. Harry thrust his fist into the air, waving the letter around.

"Hermione!" he shouted. His jeans tried to slide to the floor, crawling off his arse before he could grab them.

"Actually, I think that's Hermione's letter," Draco said from the floor. "She's just a bit bigger than that." Harry cracked the seal as Draco stood up, and was completely heedless of the fact that Draco was leaning against him as they read through it. _Dear Harry, _the letter began. _Sorry it took me so long to write back. I'd love to come by, but Ron_- here, a sentence was crossed out, and the letter continued as if nothing had gone amiss- _is rather busy. Sophie would like to see Pads again, so I hope you don't mind if I bring her with me. I suppose I'll see you on the twelfth, then. Love, Hermione. _

"She's coming," Harry said reverently, looking up at Draco. Draco pressed his lips to Harry's forehead and said against it, "Good. Now you can stop pining." His arms slithered around Harry, his expression so suggestive that he saw Harry blush, going faintly darker around the edges.

"I don't like half-assing a job, Harry," he said.

"No," Harry's voice hitched as he felt Draco's hands migrating southwards. "I suppose you don't."

-- -- --

Draco determined that the twelfth was an absolutely mad day. Harry kept leaping out of his chair and dashing off to do something else he had forgotten. Draco began to count the places Harry stopped to rest: a dining chair, the kitchen counter, at least seven different steps, a shelf in the library, and more. Eventually he seized Harry by the shoulders as Harry tried to squeeze past him into the sitting room, and shook him.

"Harry!" he barked. "Hermione will be happier to see you than anything else, stop worrying." Harry blinked up at him in an adorably clueless way before nodding. There was a thumping in the sitting room.

"Hello?" Hermione's voice came.

"Hello hello hello!" That would be Sophie. Harry leaned back to look into the sitting room, taking Draco, who refused to relinquish his hold, with him.

"Hi, Hermione!" Harry said cheerfully. Hermione was trying to dust her daughter off. She looked up at Harry with a smile on her face.

"Harry! Hello, Draco," Draco let go of Harry's shoulders and waved, and Harry nearly fell over backwards. He jerked himself straight.

"Want a seat? Tea? Coffee? Pastries?"

"I wanna play with the doggie," Sophie whinged. Hermione rolled her eyes, threw up her hands in an exaggerated way, and said, "Oh, I give up. Go! But don't destroy anything." Sophie scrambled after Pads, who kicked up his heels and dashed into the hallway. Sophie stopped between Harry and Draco, looking up at them with her enormous blue eyes.

"Hello Mister Harry, Mister Tall-man," she said with great solemnity before squeezing between them and chasing after the dog.

"Tall-man?" Draco repeated, looking confused. Hermione sank into Harry's armchair and Harry sat down on the sofa, bunching himself as close to her a he could get. Draco shrugged slightly, giving them both an, _If I must, _look, and sprawled over the remainder of the sofa.

"I'm not that tall," he said.

"You're taller than Ron, Draco. And he makes me feel like an elf by comparison," Hermione said.

"Ah, but there was never an elf as beautiful as you," Draco said charmingly. "Speaking of elves," Draco snapped his fingers and Betsy appeared with a pop, depositing the tray- one of the many things Harry had done that morning- onto the coffee table. She bowed and vanished again.

"That wasn't Kreacher," Hermione said, hesitating to reach for the tea.

"Kreacher's daughter," Harry said, as Draco poured himself coffee. "She was bound to the house anyway, and she's one of the weepy ones." Hermione nodded, understanding, and fetched herself tea. Harry twiddled his thumbs.

"So!" Hermione said, sipping her tea. "What is this ridiculously long story you couldn't tell me?"

"It's more like a story I'd rather keep out of the public," Harry said. Sophie shrieked with childish glee in the other room and Pads yipped. "First, Pads is a service dog," he cleared his throat. "Anxiety attacks."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said sympathetically.

"No, really, it's fine. It wasn't at first, but then I adopted Pads. I didn't get him certified until he bolted into a store to get me one day, but he was helping long before that," Harry grinned. "He's my Wonderdog."

Draco snorted. "Wonderboy and his Wonderdog."

"And how, exactly, did you two… meet?"

"Ah, the coexisting-without-exploding bit," Harry said good-naturedly. "Well, he's not half-bad, really." He glanced at Draco, who was absorbed in his coffee. "But really, I suppose it's up to him." Hermione looked at Draco.

"I… was on the streets," Draco said in a very small voice. Hermione looked shocked.

"Why didn't you find help?"

"Well, I wasn't sure if I was wanted, or if the Death Eaters would try and off me. Harry- Pads- found me in an alley."

Knowing the dark humour the conversation could take, Harry leaned back and poked Draco in the ribs. "I fattened him up a bit, and we just sort of fell into being friends. That was before I knew he was Draco."

"Who did you think he was?"

"Well, did you recognise him?" Hermione shook her head.

"He was familiar, but, no. Maybe if I'd seen the Malfoys in the past few years, but I haven't."

"I didn't either," Harry said. "He called himself Duck."

"Duck?"

"Duck," Harry repeated.

"Why Duck?" she directed her question to Draco.

"Drake," he said. "I hated being called Drake, but my friends insisted on Anglicising it." He grimaced. "One started calling me her little ducky. It caught."

"How long has this," Hermione gestured, "been going on?"

"About four months," Harry said after a moment.

"And what were you doing the whole rest of the time?"

"Well, I was hiding from the world. I went to university, and worked the rest of the time as a freelance journalist."

Draco picked up his cue. "A degree in psychology in a Canadian university. It's where my mother asked me to move."

"Well, I suppose that's good, considering the mess in the States right now."

"And that Canada's one of Britain's bastard children," Draco said. Hermione laughed.

"So, what about you?" Harry asked.

"Me? Well, I got into the Ministry and began working at the Department of Mysteries," she began. "Absolutely hated how so much could be left unfinished and unsolved." Harry nodded. "Well, Ron started Auror training, and he was so pleased when he graduated he sort of jumped on me and proposed. I had to go on extended hiatus with the Department when Sophie was born."

"Just the one? I'm surprised," said Draco. "Ronald seems the kind to love a big family."

"Actually, he only wants two," Hermione said. "But he's afraid to try again, just in case we have twins. Ginny's got two sets of boys, and George has his girls, and Bill- good _Lord, _Harry- Bill has eight kids."

"Eight kids! But Fleur…"

"Loves children as much as looking stunning. I don't know how she does it," Hermione said enviously. Draco was still mouthing, _eight kids, _an astonished look on his face.

"Christ, sometimes I wish I had kids," Harry said, just as something smashed in the library and Sophie's, "Oops," drifted into the sitting room.

"Doesn't everyone?" Draco said lightly.

"So, Ron's working, I suppose?"

"Oh yes," Hermione said quickly, taking a long draught from her cup. "Big, priority assignment and all."

"He's still angry." Hermione's sad expression was the only answer Harry needed. He sighed.

"Molly's been furious with herself," she said. "You know how she is, Harry. She loves you. She's felt so awful about how she treated you. You should write her."

"Maybe," Harry mumbled, and picked at his sleeve.

"Harry," Draco said, booting him lightly in the shin to get his attention. "She was practically your mother, you can't honestly believe she'd hate you forever."

"No… I'll write her. Later, or tomorrow," he smiled at Draco, and then turned it to Hermione. "Thanks."

"So, I suppose you're not made of evil," Hermione stated.

"Of course I am," Draco said, with bland aristocracy. "I am truly, truly evil."

"And yet Harry hasn't hexed you to the Shetland Islands," she said.

"I've been tempted," Harry said darkly.

"Oh," Draco waved his hand dismissively. "It's not hard to keep him calm."

"Oh no," Hermione said affectionately, patting Harry's hand. Harry looked confused. "Just stroke his ego a bit and he's purring like a cat."

"Hermione," Harry whinged. "I do _not _need ego stroking. I am not an egomaniac."

"Of course you do, Harry," Draco said, and there was something in his voice that made Harry burn and wish Hermione was tone deaf. He shot Draco a glare from under his hair and elbowed him.

"Oof!" Draco said.

"Harry!" Hermione scolded with a laugh. Draco whacked Harry lightly with his coffee cup, and Harry began to rub the side of his head tenderly. The clock on the mantel chimed three o'clock and Hermione set her teacup down.

"I need to go, Harry," she said.

"But you've barely been here an hour," Harry said.

"I'll be back," Hermione said, reaching out to squeeze Harry's hand. Harry nodded, and Hermione stood up. "Sophie!" Sophie darted into the room, Pads following joyfully. He threw himself onto the sofa and landed on Draco's lap; Draco scootched over so that Pads had a place to sit. Harry got to his feet and hugged Hermione goodbye.

"Goodbye Draco," she said, stepping into the fireplace. Sophie waved.

"Goodbye Mister Harry, Mister Tall-man," she said.

"Draco! I'm not tall!" he corrected as they vanished in a blaze of green flame. Harry immediately rounded on Draco.

"_Stroking _my _ego_? Honestly, Draco!"

Draco pointed at the fireplace. "She started it."

"I'm sure she did," Harry said. "But you finished it."

"She didn't get it, Harry."

"Draco, it's Hermione. If she didn't get it, she's either losing her touch, or she doesn't believe it." Draco looked so innocent that Harry gave up. He tried to blow some hair out of his face as Harry melted onto the sofa beside him, his eyes almost bugging out of his head as Harry pressed against him and pinned him in his place. Harry twined his left hand with Draco's and splayed his right across his chest. Draco stared down at Harry through his hair, first wondering what exactly had turned him on, and then thinking, _What is with him and my hair?_

"Uh…"

"So."

Draco blinked. "So, what?"

"So get stroking," Harry said, his grin almost feral.

"Well," Draco said. "You saved the world."

"I always love hearing _that_."

"You saved me."

"Better," Harry's thumb pressed lightly against the pad of his palm. Draco's brow creased.

"You're an excellent flier."

"Mmhmm," Harry's other thumb started moving, tracing a swirl on his chest. Draco wriggled.

"You're adorably short," he said.

"Hey," Harry warned, "if you're not tall, I'm not short."

"Then maybe I'm a little tall." Harry seemed to be waiting for the next thing, so Draco said, "You're bloody gorgeous."

"That so?" Harry said, pinning Draco with his eyes. Draco touched his cheek.

"Your eyes are the best part."

"Mm," Draco found Harry's hand had begun to roam across his chest.

"You," Draco paused and licked his lips. Harry's smirk grew wider. "You do this amazing thing with your tongue…" Harry seemed to be staring straight into him. He felt his face burning.

"Really?" Harry breathed. Draco shivered as Harry's hand crept over his hip, latched onto his pocket, and tilted him towards Harry.

"Yuh-huh." He licked his lips.

"Anything else?"

"You do what's right, regardless of the cost."

"Oh, so now you _like _valiant Harry?"

Draco nodded slightly. "Always have," he admitted, as Harry came closer. "Drove me nuts how I couldn't be like him."

"Really?" Harry was so close Draco almost had to cross his eyes to keep him in focus. He felt Harry's other hand crawling up his shirt, drawing electric pictures on his stomach.

"Oh yeah," Draco breathed.

"Think I always had a thing for you," Harry said softly. "You were a right prat, but fit at fifteen. I envied you."

"Not that girls weren't throwing their knickers at Harry Potter's feet, or anything."

"Because I was their Saviour. Because I was cute," Harry said, and at that moment Draco was sure he'd agree with just about anything Harry said, because Harry's roaming hands were at his zip. The only sound in the room was his harsh breathing and the conspiratorial _bzzzz _of his zipper being pulled down. "Not because I could have modelled underpants." Draco guffawed, then abruptly sucked in a breath as Harry caressed him in a way that made his brain shut down and sparks dance in his bloodstream.

"Couldn't," Draco began, and Harry shut him up with a kiss. A kiss about passionfruit that burn the back of your throat, and vanilla ice cream melting over apple pie. A kiss about wine when you haven't had anything to drink in a month, about a whispered secret when all you've heard is the din of the drums of war, about a barely-there touch when you've spent a life swathed in silk and fur. Draco found himself sinking into bliss.

"Could've," Harry growled between his teeth. Draco swung his head, half nodding and half shaking it, unwilling to agree but afraid not to. Harry kissed Draco's cheekbone and whispered in his ear, "Did I tell you to stop stroking?" The words as much as the heat made Draco shake his head, throwing it back against the sofa.

"You're fucking amazing," Draco managed to moan, and Harry kept up his long, even strokes. He was a spider caught in the tangled, tricky webs of a mate; a preying mantis desperately trying to keep his head. He was had saddled a lion and would fall into oblivion if he made one wrong move. Panting, he twisted his arm almost painfully to sink his fingers into the back of Harry's neck. "You're a right wildcat," he groaned as Harry sank his teeth into the juncture of his own neck and shoulder.

"Keep going," Harry purred, and Draco almost laughed. He groped for Harry's shoulder and squeezed it, his other hand fumbling for Harry's belt. Harry grabbed it, pressed his fingers against it and helped. Draco leaned forward, crushing his lips against Harry's with another muffled moan.

"You're _so damn good at that,_" were his words as Harry's well-trained hand made his heart race into his blood. The belt was finally undone.

"Your arse looks so good in jeans, it should be illegal," Harry chuckled. Draco finally got himself into Harry's pants. At the first touch of his cool fingers Harry sighed deeply, burying his face into Draco's neck, his breath hot and sticky on Draco's throat. "You are so t-t-touchable," Draco stammered as he met Harry's tempo stroke for stroke. "So bl-bloodyfuckinghot." He gasped out. Harry grunted, biting again at Draco's neck before he growled lightly, "Gonna come?"

"Oh _God _yes," Draco said through his teeth. Harry chuckled, tightening his grip and speeding up so that Draco wanted to scream. Draco shoved his fist into his mouth; he fell off of his lion and was devoured by ecstasy, his shout was muffled to a whimper as Harry set him on fire. One minute every muscle was filled with electric energy, and the next he was sagging against the sofa. Draco extracted his hand from between his teeth and pressed his forehead to Harry's, twining his fingers into his hair. He forced his numb fingers faster, until Harry was moaning and writhing against him, his sticky fingers dug painfully into Draco's hip, pumping into Draco's hand eagerly. Harry came groaning, his teeth clenched and head thrown back so that Draco could see his pulse in his throat.

They lay, stuck together, panting, for several minutes before Harry turned his head, staring almost sleepily into Draco's eyes.

"Enough stroking?" Draco asked.

"Oh yeah."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

_And who would've thought? It figures_

"It's right there!"

"God, Harry, almost had it!"

"Fuck fuck _fuck_!"

"Grab it!"

"Fucking canary-buggering ball get _back here!_"

"Fuck you, you flying rat!"

"Shit! Someone's taking the piss out of us, its been tampered with!"

"Get it!"

"You better catch it, I might rip its damned wings off."

"There it goes!"

"Get it get it get it."

"Shitfuck!"

"Yesss!"

"I thought you said you'd rip its wings off?"

"I'm tempted," Harry growled, his fist clutched tightly around the snitch. It fluttered weakly in his grasp. He lifted his fist to his face and tugged experimentally on one of the lacey wings; the shrill squeal of metal-on-metal emanated from the snitch. Harry let go with a wince, murder still in his eyes. He landed just before Draco did, flipping his broom over his shoulder before stalking off towards the shed they used to house most of their Quidditch gear. They locked the snitch away in its box and headed back towards the house.

"Used to fly better."

"You flew great, Harry."

"That's why that shitting ball managed to avoid us," Harry said pointedly.

"It's tampered with, or something. You know that. Hey," Draco grabbed his arm short of the door, forcibly spinning Harry around to face him. "You did that ridiculous foot-push again, you're the only flier I've seen pull that off." Harry looked up at him through his eyelashes, his face still drawn down into a frown. He tilted his chin up, jaw set, boldly glaring up at Draco as if it was his fault the snitch was being troublesome. Draco licked his lips, and Harry's entire demeanour changed. He grabbed Draco's collar, pulling him almost painfully down into a kiss.

Harry hit the back door and scrabbled for the knob, following it as it opened. Both hands fisted into the front of Draco's shirt, pushing him forcefully into the wall. Unwilling to be outdone, Draco grabbed a handful of Harry's hair- Harry growled against his mouth, dragging his teeth over Draco's lip- and used his leg as leverage, forcing Harry into a photograph on the opposite wall. The photo shrieked as Harry pushed back against Draco, pressing the full length of both forearms against his chest and thrusting with all his not-insubstantial weight. Draco's head slammed against the balustrade on the stairs and he whined, temporarily releasing his hold on Harry's hair.

With an animal snarl Harry nipped at Draco's collarbone and Draco latched on again, this time to the hair at the back of Harry's head, his other hand gripped around Harry's belt. He pulled Harry's head back- Harry growled again- and kissed him, pushing him, step by step, towards the front door. Harry tripped over his own foot, dragging Draco to the floor with him. The slam knocked the air from Harry's lungs and Draco gasped in pain as his knee hit the floor. Harry didn't waste any time tearing his shirt open, and Draco didn't waste any time unbuckling Harry's belt.

"Hello hello hello!" came a familiar voice. Draco squealed.

"Harry! Draco!" Hermione sounded scandalized. Harry glanced sideways at her, pressed under Draco, whose expression was that of a deer caught in headlights.

"Fell!" Draco barked. Hermione looked confused.

"Down the stairs?" she supplied. Draco nodded, his hair flying. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Why is Mister Harry wrestling with Mister Draco?"

"I haven't the foggiest, sweetpea."

"I'm horny, that's why," Harry said, low enough that Hermione didn't hear anything, but as loud as thunder to Draco, who turned red.

"Are you all right?"

"Just winded," Draco managed to say, struggling to his sore knees. He winced as he got to his feet, using the wall as a support so he wouldn't fall down again. With a long-suffering sigh, Harry pulled his legs back and then threw them forward, following their momentum so he was dragged to his feet, where he swayed precariously before standing up.

"Mister Harry is an acrobat!"

"Yes, he is," Draco said cheekily. Harry smacked him.

"It's good to see you, Hermione. I thought you'd be here Thursday?"

"Ron had another meeting today, so I thought it would be better to stop by now. You're not busy, are you?"

"Nope, just playing Fetch."

"Damn snitch was tampered with."

"Are we ever too busy for our favourite girls?"

Hermione laughed. "As far as I can see, we're your only girls." Draco conceded this point with a dip of his head. He hobbled into the living room and sank onto the sofa. Harry followed him, sitting down between Draco and Pads, who was so deeply asleep on the sofa Draco doubted a earthquake could have woken him. Sophie milled about by the fireplace as her mother sat down in Harry's armchair.

"Come here, Sophster," Draco said, tapping his knee. Sophie darted towards him and pulled herself onto the proffered seat, although Draco began to regret it as his knee twinged.

"Draco's an armchair?" Hermione seemed amused.

"I am a top-of-the-line armchair, thanks." Harry laughed.

"He's too pointy for us regular-sized folk to sit on, though."

"Mister Draco is comfy," was Sophie's opinion on the matter.

"Draco?"

"Mm?"

"Why is your shirt unbuttoned?" Draco looked down at his chest.

"Haven't a clue," Draco said, plucking at it. "Some of the buttons fell off in the wash."

"You're wearing a broken shirt?" Hermione asked, skeptically, her eyes examining him and then Harry, who smiled fetchingly.

"Appears to be that way, yes."

"Harry, your belt…"

"Just got out of the bathroom when Draco fell on me."

"I see."

"So, how have you been?" Harry asked her.

"Fine," said Hermione. "I was wondering if you two would be free for dinner on Friday?"

Harry glanced at Draco before he shrugged. "I think so."

"Great! I know this lovely little Italian place…"

Which was how they ended up on the plaza of a little Italian restaurant on the coast, savouring the warmth and dry wind. The setting sun painted a dazzling picture against the sky and the Mediterranean waves, and the words humming in the air alongside the breath of wind was calming and beautiful, though emphatic and loud. Harry sighed, relaxing further into his chair, his wine glass propped against his lips as Hermione regaled them with some tale or another of her work as an Unspeakable. Harry jerked himself to awareness.

"Did you just say veil?"

Hermione nodded. "I knew that would get your attention. Last I heard, Morley was investigating the veil."

"Veil?"

"My… Sirius fell through it in my fifth year," Harry said.

"Well, that's good," Draco said. Harry couldn't help the grin that bubbled out onto his face. Sophie looked up from her doodling and grinned back at him.

"I was helping him until I went on maternity leave," Hermione said. "I remember telling Ron about this right here, before he proposed."

"So that's how you found this place," Draco said, sipping his wine. "It's lovely."

"I know," Hermione sighed.

"Love the view," Harry said absently, admiring it again. Hermione shared an amused look with Draco as Harry dazed off again, his expression becoming so calm that Draco wondered if he would fall asleep in his chair. He reached out and poked Harry, who jumped, whipping his head back around to look at Draco.

"Go on to the beach, we'll catch up."

"I wanna go!" Sophie said, sliding out of her chair. She tugged on Harry's hand, and Harry shrugged.

"All right," he said, setting his glass down and standing up. He took Sophie's other hand and pulled her up, onto his shoulders, where she squealed with delight and grabbed fistfuls of his shaggy mane of hair. As Harry stepped onto the beach he began to sink into the sand, skidding this way and that and causing the most improbable whoops of joy to come out of Sophie. Draco watched with a grin. Without taking his eyes from Harry he reached out and took Hermione's hand; she looked surprised when he glanced at her.

"What are you hiding from him?" Draco asked quietly, his eyes searching. Hermione's mouth opened, and then closed, as she rethought what she had been about to say.

"Ron doesn't know I've been seeing him; Molly hasn't told him they've been writing."

"He really hates Harry now, doesn't he?" Draco asked sadly. Hermione nodded, her eyes morose as they flitted to Harry, who was now on his knees some ways down the beach, Sophie trying to wrestle him to the ground.

"They used to be almost brothers," she said. "It's sad to see it's come this far." She paused for a moment, taking a deep breath of salty sea air, and sighed. "It seems he's found the same sort of relationship with you."

"I somehow doubt that," Draco said, an amused grin on his face. "I quite like your blouse. Funny, how we're the only people with long sleeves on in all of Italy. Except the waitstaff, of course." Hermione laughed. She set her wineglass down and flagged down their waitress for the bill as Draco's eyes examined her carefully. He finished off his wine as they paid, picked up his coat, and offered his arm to Hermione. She took it, and they strolled down the beach after Harry.

"Draco! Help!" Harry laughed helplessly as Sophie tickled him. Draco swooped in to the rescue, pulling Sophie into the air and spinning her around. She shrieked with delight. Harry shook the sand out of his shirt and sat up, wrapping his arms around his knees and staring out at the waves, listening to the shush and lull of the ocean. Hermione joined him, smoothing her skirt out on the sand, and Draco sat down on Harry's other side. Sophie sat down, pulled her shoes off, and rushed off into the surf, crowing at the birds that fished there.

"She's a firecracker," Draco said.

"George's doing," Hermione replied. They watched the sun set slowly, sinking into the sea, turning the farthest waves into pink magma. Sophie returned periodically with things she had found: a pink and gold conch shell; orange, eight-legged starfish; the skull of a rather large fish with sharp teeth; she even collected a pile of clams, which she convinced Harry to open and which forfeited several small, round pearls. Draco immediately transfigured them into earrings which Sophie and Hermione fawned over. As the sun finally slipped away, Harry smiled softly.

"Beautiful."

-- -- --

Harry inhaled. It smelled like morning. The snow around the outside edges of his garden was all that was left, the grass yellowed and soggy. He stood at his back door, leaning against the jamb, a cup of coffee clasped in his cold hands and his bare feet cold. Harry sipped his coffee, watching as sparrows pecked at the newly exposed grass, the patter of light rain against the walls setting a simple rhythm. Everything just seemed so easy, lately. He was unsure whether to be thankful or worried, so he settled for simply being. Live in this good moment, don't think about the bad ones, coming or left behind. He sipped his coffee again, savouring its warmth. March was nice, he determined. The sky was silvery and churning with clouds, the air wet and soft.

"Harry?"

"Out here," he called back, wondering why Hermione was here so early. It wasn't even Thursday. He heard her footfalls behind him and looked over his shoulder to see her in a thick purple dressing gown, her hair done up in a loose bun, and a newspaper in her hand.

"Morning," he said with a smile.

"Good morning," she said back, leaning against the door beside him, staring out at the sparrows. "Harry, I think you have a problem. You don't get the Prophet?"

"Nope," he said. "I'm not dealing with their tripe." Hermione nodded, obviously expecting this, and held up the paper.

"You went out some time ago, someone saw you." Harry took one hand off of his cup and took hold of the paper, flipping it so that it was flat and stiff in his hand. He read the headline and sipped again from his coffee, his face taking on a resigned cast.

"How the bloody hell did they recognise me?"

"It was grasping at straws," she said. "Draco called you by name, someone from school thought you sounded familiar. I expect they're not _sure _it was you." Harry sighed.

"I just want peace," he said softly.

"I know," Hermione's hand was on his arm, reassuring. "I need to get home, Sophie's still sleeping."

"Thanks, Hermione. Have a good day," Harry said, and she turned to leave. He heard her tell Draco good morning as he thumped down the stairs. There was muffled conversation as Harry returned to watching the birds, his fears unfounded: there was no need to worry about how easy it was, because suddenly, it wasn't so easy. Good old reliable life. Draco's arms found their way around his waist, his chin digging into the top of Harry's head. Harry lifted up the paper.

"She told me," he said. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Harry said. "Don't apologise." Draco nuzzled against his hair.

"It is bloody cold out here," he murmured. Harry stepped back, forcing Draco to do the same, and grabbed the door, shutting it with something just short of a slam. He turned around in Draco's arms, pressing his coffee cup between them, and leaned his forehead against Draco's chest with a groan.

"Life is so predictable," he said with an ironic chuckle. "Oh, I'm sorry. It's just that nothing ever goes right."

"Well, if everything went right, we wouldn't be who we are. Would we?" Harry looked up at Draco, his lip tilting into half a grin.

"Philosophical, aren't we."

"Mm," Draco agreed, watching Harry sip his coffee, peering up at Draco through his eyelashes.

That day, no less than four owls found Grimmauld Place, pecking insistently at the window when they realised that the subject of their letters was residing inside. Eventually, Harry got so sick of them that he released Taubolt and Persephone, and they proceeded to try and peck the eyes out of the other owls. Taubolt appeared to be absolutely appalled at their behaviour, and proceeded to sit in front of the window, his feathers ruffled out. Persephone preened him lovingly. Harry got so tired of watching his owl shrieking that he went upstairs and subjected himself to watching Draco measure and chop and mix potions ingredients.

"I think you need a hobby," Draco said in an amused voice as Harry watched him glumly, his chin on his arms.

"I need a job."

"I'm sure the Prophet would love having you there."

"They love writing about me," Harry grumped. Draco carefully measured a pinch of something and dropped it into his cauldron.

"So? You can write about you. They win!"

"Well, I don't see you applying for your Healer courses yet," Harry said. Draco gave him a level look, then stirred his potion five times counter clockwise.

"I fully intend to for the next term," he said.

"Great," Harry moaned. "I'll be all useless again."

"You're never useless," Draco said affectionately. "Pass me the bile. The _other_ bile." Harry grabbed up a vial of fluorescent green liquid and handed it to Draco. "See, not useless," Harry made a face as Draco added the bile to his potion: there was a small, purple mushroom-cloud of smoke.

"Let me guess, perfect."

"Yep," Draco said, pulling the cauldron off of the flame.

"What is it?" Harry said, hazarding a sniff.

"Nerve sharpening potion. I will definitely need it if I'm going back out there," he said, jerking his head towards the window.

"Out the window?"

"Working as a wizard. Being a muggle is easy compared to that." Harry nodded his agreement, replacing his chin on his arms and watching Draco bottle his potion up. Not for the first time, Harry wondered if things would have ended up this way if life hadn't gone all pear-shaped to begin with. Obviously, he wouldn't have been raised by the Dursleys, and maybe he wouldn't have turned out so righteously angry, and clearly he wouldn't have lost his friends and family and become a nervy recluse. No, he couldn't see his life turning out to be so shitty, and so wonderful. He stared at Draco with a crooked grin on his face, as Draco stole increasingly more cross glances at him, before finally trying to glare him down. Harry just grinned wider.

"Nut," Draco muttered affectionately, corking the third vial of his potion.

"Just thinking how lucky I am to have you." Draco snorted something about sappiness, but Harry was distracted by a tapping at the window. He was almost afraid to look, but did anyway, and saw a very tiny owl there, rapping quickly on the glass.

"Should I get Taubolt?" Draco asked, scowling, as he scraped the last of his potion from the cauldron.

"It's Pigwidgeon," Harry told him, pulling himself from his chair and crossing the room to throw the window open so that Pig could zoom in. "In," he said, and Pig did just that. "Ron's owl." Pig flew a lap around the room, almost knocking over an already precariously teetering stack of potions books as he did so. He proceeded to collide spectacularly with the side of Harry's head as he closed the window, and set up a ruckus as he landed on Harry's shoulder, nibbling his ear affectionately. Harry managed to pull the letter secured to his leg off. He unrolled the tiny parchment and began to read, his eyes going wide.

"What's wrong?"

"Ron's telling me to stay the fuck away from Hermione," Harry said, very quietly. He looked up at Draco. "Did he even know she's been here? I can't recall her ever coming over when Ron was home."

"No," Draco told him. "She admitted she hadn't told him when we went to Italy. Neither has his mother." Harry sank into his chair, Pig still flipping through his unruly hair, making it appear that he was wearing a ridiculous black wig. With a groan Harry rubbed his temples.

"I can't _lose _my friends again," he whispered. "I love Hermione, you know?"

"I know," Draco said, feeling his throat close up. "Do you think Pig will deliver to Hermione?"

"Maybe."

"Write to her, let her know Ron knows." Harry nodded after a moment, sucking on one of his canines. He stood up and left the room, trampling down the stairs in such a way that Draco called him an elephant, and tore into the library, ripping a square of parchment off of a larger sheaf and scribbling a hasty note onto it. He wrestled it onto Pig.

"To Hermione, not Ron. You got that?" Pig chirped happily and took off through the window. Harry stumbled into the sitting room and fell onto his couch, staring blankly at Taubolt and Persephone as they watched Pig soar away, like a little bullet. Pads pushed himself closer to Harry by increments, until he was in Harry's lap and making Harry pet him. Harry started as an arm found itself around his shoulders, pulling him and Pads closer.

"She'll be all right," Draco said soothingly against his hair.

"He hates me. He's mad at her. Oh, God."

"Do you honestly think he could do anything to her?"

"You mean hurt her?" Harry said, aghast. "No! Just…"

"He couldn't stop her from seeing you."

"He did once," Harry muttered.

"She won't let him do it again," Draco's thumb pressed into his shoulder, and between them, trapped on his back like a baby, Pads whined, wagging his stub against Harry's leg. Harry tried to smile, he really did, but somehow it didn't work. He sighed against Draco's neck instead, rubbing Pads' ears and hoping that Hermione would get back to them. Preferably before his brain exploded from worry.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

_Mister Play-it-Safe was afraid to fly_

Draco leaned against the doorjamb, watching Harry. He was nursing a cup of cocoa- with a generous splash of brandy that Harry was unaware of- and had a green tartan throw wrapped around his shoulders, as he stared blandly out the window. Pads sat by his side, a vigilant watcher, as Harry's lips moved silently. Draco hadn't the faintest idea what he was saying, but he had the strong impression that asking would be a bad idea, especially with Harry as twitchy as he was now.

Harry jumped as a chunk of ash dislodged itself from the fireplace, sliding down onto the tiled front. Draco's heart almost broke as Harry's eyebrows drew together, his expression deeply sad. Right now, with that look on his face, his hair tucked behind his ear and the blanket worn like a cape, he looked incredibly young and vulnerable. Harry turned to look at Draco, his expression softening until it was a careful mask that made Draco hurt.

"It's almost six, Harry," he said, instead of what he wanted to. Harry nodded glumly.

"I know," he said with a resigned sigh. "Maybe Pig got lost." Draco agreed, not wanting to crush Harry's spirits any further. He held out his hand and Harry dragged himself to his feet, clutching his cape in one hand and his mug in the other. Harry shuffled straight into his chest, pressing the side of his head to it, and sighed again. Draco was about to wrap Harry up in his arms when the fireplace made a hushing sound again, and blazed to life. Harry's eyes went wide at the same time Hermione tumbled to her knees on their rug, Sophie clutched tightly in her arms and her hair in disarray.

"Hermione!" Harry croaked.

"Hermione!" Draco said, alarmed. Harry dropped his blanket and mug- Draco thankfully caught the latter before it could do much damage- and rushed towards her. Draco followed him.

"Please close your Floo," Hermione said, and Draco was struck by the fact that she was begging, but did so without a second thought. Harry helped Hermione to her feet. Pads, ever the hero, patiently interposed himself between Hermione and the couch and licked her hand.

"What the fuck happened to you?" he hissed. Sophie hiccuped, wiping her nose on her sleeve, her face streaked with tears. Draco reached out to peel Sophie from her mother, stroking her hair to try and soothe her. Sophie latched onto his neck with a stranglehold and refused to let go. Harry had his hand under Hermione's chin, tilting her face slightly upwards.

"Nothing," she said tightly, and Draco saw that she wasn't in much of a better way than her daughter, her mascara running down her face. In the dim light, Draco could make out the fresh purplish tinge of a rising bruise along her cheek.

"If that's _nothing_, Hermione Granger, I will eat my shoes," Draco told her.

"It's nothing," Hermione pleaded, sounding desperate.

"Did Ron-"

"Harry," she sounded perilously close to tears, and Harry held up his hands, gesturing to show her he would cease and desist.

"Do you need somewhere to stay?" Harry tried instead, as Hermione's hand rested on his wrist and he relaxed. She let her chin fall and nodded once.

"Cocoa?" Draco asked, and felt Sophie nod against him. Hermione looked so unbelievably grateful he felt uncomfortable.

"Thank you, both of you," she said, as Harry wrapped his arm around her shoulders, directing her out of the sitting room. He stooped to pick up the blanket he had dropped, wrapping it around Hermione, who was clutching her arms across her chest, her eyes downcast. Harry placed Hermione in a chair as if she was a delicate porcelain doll, and Draco dropped the now no longer sniffling Sophie back onto Hermione's lap. He heard her murmuring, telling Sophie that they would be sleeping over with Uncle Harry and Uncle Draco, feeling a strange stir at being called _family._

"I can't believe it," Harry mumbled as Draco touched his arm. Harry was busy mutilating the paper packets the hot cocoa powder came in, shredding it so finely it could have been hot cocoa powder.

"I can," Harry shot him an incredulous look. "You saw how Ron treated her that day, and when we went to Italy?"

"What about it?" Harry asked, his voice barely a whisper, as he mixed the powder into warmed milk.

"There were all of three people wearing sleeves there: our waitress, me, and Hermione."

"So?" Harry said, as Draco abducted one of the mugs of cocoa to add some- in his opinion- much needed liquid courage to it. Harry eyed him.

"Yes, you got some too," he said. "The waitress was in uniform, but I'm hiding something. I'll wager Hermione was, too." He grabbed the other mug before turning around to give them to Sophie and Hermione, making very sure they got to the right places. Sophie peered into hers.

"Marshmallows?" she asked. Draco chuckled, looking over his shoulder at Harry.

"On it," Harry assured her, and Sophie grinned a gap-toothed grin.

"Lose your tooth, Sophster?" Draco asked, taking a seat. Sophie stuck her tongue into the gap and nodded.

"It's under my pillow at home," she said. "Will the Tooth Fairy know I'm here?"

"I'm sure she will," Draco said, glancing up at Hermione. Hermione smiled and took a sip of her cocoa, and Draco realised that she was stroking Pads' head inattentively. For his part, the dog simply sat there, his soft brown eyes trained on her. Harry finally came to the rescue with a handful of miniature marshmallows, dunking them into Sophie's mug.

"That's too many!" she giggled.

"Well, I'll take one…" Draco said, reaching towards her cup with a grin on his face. Sophie drew it away and stuck out her tongue at him, and Draco looked up to see Harry and Hermione deep in a conversation of meaningful glances.

"Sophie, finish up your cocoa and you can watch some telly, all right?" Hermione told her daughter.

"She can take it with her," Harry said, and Hermione nodded.

"Can Pads come?" Sophie asked, and Harry nodded. Sophie slid off of her mother's lap and beckoned Pads to follow her out of the kitchen. After a long and awkwardly silent moment, Hermione put her mug on the table and stared at it, her thumb running up and down the side. Draco was rather amazed at how patiently Harry waited for Hermione to start speaking.

"He's not bad," she said finally, quietly. Harry shook his head in agreement with her, and Hermione took her hands off of her mug, holding them out. Draco took the one that was offered to him, squeezing it. "You know how they are, Harry," she was looking up at Harry now, not quite meeting his eyes. "The flash-bang temper."

"I know."

Hermione nodded resolutely. "Ron's just… impetuous. He's still a big kid." Draco had to resist the urge to say something nasty. Another long, silent moment stretched, and Hermione unexpectedly turned to look at him, her eyes- as soft and chocolatey brown as a puppy's- meeting his. "He never _meant _it, you know?"

"They never do," Draco said, and Hermione nodded, as if this was the right thing for him to have said.

"It wasn't bad," she said quickly. "No worse than when I was working with un-researched things in the Department. But…"

"Things aren't Ron," Harry put in, and Hermione nodded.

"He was so sorry at first," she said, looking beseechingly at Harry. "I just kept telling myself it was the last time he'd do it. But then… then…"

"Then I showed up again."

Hermione's face crumpled. "Yes," she whispered. "He came home today in a rage, I've never seen him so angry. He… he…" she sobbed, and Harry was instantly there, smothering her in a bear hug. Her fingernails were digging painfully into Draco's hand and he squeezed back, wondering how the rash, jealous kid he had used to make fun of could have turned into such a despicable creature. There was a small sound at the door.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione's voice was muffled. "I just couldn't take it anymore."

"Shhh," Harry said, pressing a kiss to Hermione's temple. "Don't explain anymore, I get it."

"Mummy?"

Draco turned and saw Sophie, her hand on Pads' shoulders and her empty cocoa mug trailing, standing at the entry of the kitchen and looking just slightly scared. Hermione extracted herself from Harry's arms.

"What, sweetpea?"

"Daddy's here," Sophie said softly. Draco was standing before he realised he had even moved, his chair scraping across the floor with a loud protest. He looked at Harry and saw an absolute murderous rage in his eyes that Draco was sure he was reflecting. Hermione had gone terribly pale; she held out her arms and Sophie ran into them. Pads, his expression protective, placed himself like a wall, separating them from whatever it was he didn't like. Harry's fists were clenching, his jaw set, as Hermione stroked Sophie's hair, making soothing sounds that seemed to be mostly directed at herself. Harry began to stalk out of the kitchen and Draco seized his arm.

"We're not killing him," he warned, and Harry's eyes sparked with fury.

"No, but if I have my way, he'll be carrying most of his parts home," Harry said, his tones low and dangerous. Draco followed him to the door, which was thrown open to show Ronald Weasley, his face flushed and set into a grotesque mask of anger. Harry seemed to swell as he glared up at him, but Draco realised then how very large Ron was compared to either of them.

"Where is she?" Ron growled. Harry stared. "Your Floo is closed, I know she's here."

"And she's not leaving."

"You're not holding my daughter hostage!" Ron roared.

"So much care for your wife," Draco sneered.

"You bloody well _hit _her, Ron!" Ron looked very much like he would enjoy hitting Harry then. "She doesn't want to be there, at least not now. She's staying here."

"She can't keep Sophie! She's my daughter, too!"

"Do you know how scared that little girl was when she came here?" Draco asked him furiously. "That kid never stops going, but for once I had to get her started!"

"You disgusting piece of Death Eater rubbish," Ron snarled, raising his fist. Harry lashed out and caught his wrist, obviously hurting it by the expression on Ron's face.

"Get out of here, Ron," Harry said, making the simple statement sound like an unfinished threat.

"Hermione!" Ron bellowed. "Hermione, get out here! I want my daughter, you bitch!"

"Go away, Ronald," Hermione's voice came from behind them, and Draco hazarded to look over his shoulder and saw her standing with Sophie clutched in her arms, Pads standing protectively in front of her.

"I want Sophie. She's mine."

"She's not a thing, Ronald. She's a child, and she wants to be with someone who doesn't scare her."

"I do not _scare_ my daughter!"

"Ronald, you're scaring your wife, your childhood friend, and a bloke who used to love tormenting you, I'm sure you're scaring a six year-old girl!" Draco said.

"Ron, I'm giving you one more chance to leave," Harry said levelly.

"Or what?" Ron growled.

"Or I'll be forced to kick your arse."

Ron actually laughed at that. "You? You're, what, five foot seven? Eleven stone?"

"Size doesn't matter, you ruddy arsehole."

"I'm sure that's what your boyfriend tells you all the time," Ron's voice was venomous. Draco fixed him with a glare.

"At least he can pick on someone who can fight back." Ron spluttered.

"Hermione could-"

"Don't even go there!" Harry snarled, at the same time Draco bit out a, "If she wanted to get beaten to a pulp, she could." Ron let out a frustrated yell, and it was then that Draco noticed that Sophie was crying, high-pitched, hiccuping wails that Hermione was trying to soothe with small sounds and her hands, although she was crying too. Sophie was patting at her mother's face, staring over her shoulder with a horrified expression at her father, his fist still raised for a blow and held at bay by Harry.

"Do you _see_ that?" Draco stabbed a finger towards them. "You tell me you're not scaring her now!" Ron seemed to deflate a little.

"I'm not…"

"You _are_!" Hermione shouted at him. "You're scaring your daughter!" Ron's face fell as he looked at his daughter, but Sophie was refusing to look back at him, her face buried in Hermione's hair. He tried to step forward but the wards caught him, and Pads barked once, a gruff warning. Ron's fist unclenched and Harry let go of it, watching it warily as it fell back to Ron's side.

"Sophie," Ron implored. "Come on, Sophie."

"You're yelly," Sophie sniffled. "I wanna stay with Uncle Harry." Ron frowned. He tried to glare a hole through Harry, then jabbed his finger towards him.

"I'll be back," he snarled.

"And did I mention you're not invited in?" Harry quipped, shutting the door. There was a thunderous crack on the other side as Ron apparated. Draco immediately headed towards Hermione, who lowered herself into a sitting position on the stairs, still sobbing. He knelt before her and took one of her hands.

"He's gone," he said. "It's all right." Harry gave an abrupt, hysterical giggle as he sank to his heels beside Draco.

"Oh Jesus bloody Christ," Harry breathed, his eyes wild. Pads squeezed into their midst, switching the bulk of his attention to Harry, who couldn't seem to stop laughing. Draco wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulders and Harry collapsed into him, now hyperventilating. "Bloody fucking shit," Harry managed between gasps. "H-h-hate _fighting. _Fuck." Hermione reached out, drawing Harry into a hug, and the four of them sat, a shaky, sobby mass, as Draco gave in to the helpless urge to laugh, and wondered just how much uglier life could get.

-- -- --

Mornings at Grimmauld Place went one of two ways: they were filled with quiet recollections, if only one of the men woke up, or they were filled with raucous laughter and yelling as they tried to prepare breakfast if they both did. This morning was quiet, but it was not a self-imposed quiet, it was a thick blanket that tried to smother all sound. Harry entered the kitchen in his pyjama trousers to find Hermione sifting through the cupboards. Sophie was sitting at the table, kicking her legs. With a sigh Hermione fell back on her heels and turned, leaning against the counter.

"Sophie wanted cereal," she said. Harry pointed.

"That one. Behind the flour," he said. "But I don't know if we have any milk."

"I already found that, I figured I'd forgo tea this morning so that she could have breakfast," Hermione said, as she fed her daughter.

"Raisins!" Sophie squealed with delight, and set upon her cereal. Harry prepared himself coffee as Draco slumped into the room, fell into a chair, and put his head on the table. Hermione watched at Harry put an ungodly amount of sugar into his coffee, and then a more moderate amount in the other. He tapped Draco on the head with the mug and Draco grabbed for it, inhaling deeply of the heady scent.

"Ah, coffee," Draco murmured reverently, drinking of his favourite beverage.

"I take it you two don't function until you have some," Hermione said, absent-mindedly braiding her daughter's hair. Draco shook his head with a grunt.

"Caffeine are good," he said, and Harry laughed.

"We'll need to get more groceries. Man-food isn't quite little girl-food."

"Doritoes!" Sophie crowed, flinging her spoon- and therefore some cereal- as she did so.

"Actually," Harry said thoughtfully. "We had those. But we ate them. Maybe man-food is little girl-food." Harry finished off his coffee and fed Pads, who wolfed down his breakfast with alacrity as they discussed their outing. When Sophie was done she swept up the stairs like a tiny whirlwind to get dressed, her mother in tow. Harry followed suit and afterwards, dressed in jeans and tee-shirt, thumped down the stairs, a pair of extra-warm jumpers in his hand.

"You didn't have your coat," he explained, and Hermione smiled as she snugged it on. Sophie looked like she was drowning in waves of blue as she pulled the hood over her head. Harry pulled on his own coat.

"Draco?" he called up the stairs. "Are you sure you'll be okay?" Draco's head popped out from the bathroom, his toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. He pulled it out.

"I doubt Ronald's smart enough to get through my wards, Harry. I'll be fine." Harry nodded, and then they left.

Draco finished brushing his teeth before deciding a shower was in order. He felt absolutely filthy after last night's ordeal. The water was warm, the spray a light and distracting hum that coursed through him and left him feeling relaxed. Relaxed was a good thing, because he highly doubted he'd be relaxed at all for the next few days. Something about Ronald Weasley set him on an edge he hadn't been on in years. The single-minded intensity of his demands for his daughter was rather frightening. If there was a man who terrified him, it was a man who thought he was entitled to something he wasn't.

With a sigh, Draco pulled himself out of the shower and got dressed. He wrapped a towel around his head, scrubbing his hair dry with his hands as he navigated the stairs by memory. Maybe there was a chance at more coffee before he had to do any really heavy thinking. He walked into something, which seized his arms, and his heart stopped in his throat.

"How did you get in?" he choked out.

"I'm an Auror, you fucking tosser." Draco groaned as he was slammed into the wall. "Where is she?"

"I didn't think you were smart enough to unravel my wards," he wheezed, trying to laugh. One of his arms was released and he reached out, but not before his head was slammed into the wall again. His towel slid off of his head as he tried to blink the world back into focus. One Ronald Weasley had him gripped roughly, and behind him was another man, shorter and smirking. Draco did laugh then.

"Oh, you aren't," he said, feeling a vindictive thrill as Ron bared his teeth at him. Ron fisted his hands in the front of his shirt, pulling him upright against the wall and growled at him.

"Where. Is. She?"

"Out, I suspect," Draco said conversationally.

"You fucking ponce," Ron snarled, pressing his forearm up under Draco's chin. Draco struggled to breath, reaching up instinctively to claw at the arm that was slowing strangling him. "You're not stealing my wife."

"If I'm a ponce, what would I do with her?" he breathed. His head exploded, white stars dancing to a dizzy beat inside of his skull, spiking his brain with white-hot needles of pain. When the stars finally cleared from his eyes he found himself on the floor, the left side of his head aching horribly as the needles pricked down along the side of his face. He made to sit up but a foot on his chest stopped him and he thumped back to the floor, squinting up at Ron.

"Last chance, Malfoy. Where is she?" Ron pressed his heel into Draco's sternum, and Draco grunted, banging his head against the floor as he grabbed at Ron's ankle, trying to twist it. Draco's lungs stopped working properly, every short, sharp breath sending bolts of pain crawling along his ribcage and into his back. He grit his teeth and glared up at Ron, completely silent. A very long moment passed while they stared unblinking at each other.

"I don't think he's talking, Weasley," his partner said, sounding bored. With a disgusted growl Ron kicked him, square in the jaw, and a strangled yell made its way out of Draco's throat. Ron immediately snatched him by the hair, hauling him to his knees, and wrenched his head back. Everything about his face hurt like a firestorm, but Draco grimaced a bloody grin up at Ron.

"I don't have time for your shit, Malfoy."

"Don't have time for yours," Draco retorted.

"Then we're in agreement," Ron muttered darkly. Draco swallowed the blood gathering in his throat and threw his hands up to defend himself as Ron lashed out at him. The first blows landed on his upraised arms before they crumpled up against him and he fell back to the floor, his ribs falling as Ron's next victim. A few well-placed kicks had him unable to breathe, and Draco curled up into a ball, forcing himself not to whimper. It was all he had left, not giving Ron what he wanted. No Hermione, no Sophie, no indication of pain. It was with the same bloody smile on his face that Draco finally surrendered to the comforting embrace of black.

-- -- --

OH NOES I CLIFFHANGED YOU.

This began as a very simple exercise: I was stuck on writing my novel and needed to write something else to break the block. I'd always been interested in the Potterverse and how people loved to manipulate the fanfics, and after hearing the fluff epilogue I thought, "For fuck's sakes, why would everything be happy-perfect?" It's war: people die, people get shell-shocked, people can't _cope_. Neither Harry nor Draco has ever struck me as the kind to cope. I'm not sure how long this story will go on, but I can guarantee you I _will _finish it. Whether that's in another ten chapters or in a hundred, I don't know.

Also, good time to mention I haven't actually read _Deathly Hallows. _If you see any terrible inconsistencies, please let me know. Also, if anything important happened that I haven't touched on, please tell me! It's not my fault I have no closure :(


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

_Was afraid to fly_

"Pop!" Sophie shouted gleefully, waving her lolly in the air.

"Watch it, bugs'll get stuck to it," Harry warned.

"Bugs aren't out in _March, _silly," Sophie said sagely, popping the sweet into her mouth. Harry hefted one of the bags farther up his wrist so that he could scratch his nose. He felt Hermione's hand wrap around his wrist as he dropped his hand again, the bags thumping with a crinkling sound against his leg.

"I can carry them," he said for the fifth time, turning his head slightly to look at her. Hermione just smiled, keeping her light grip on Harry as if he was her lifeline, the other hand in Sophie's as the little girl skipped along, humming a song of some sort. _Draco hums, _Harry thought, amused. They could teach each other more irritating songs to hum together. They round the corner into the cul-de-sac where Grimmauld Place was, passing by three houses before heading up the stairs. Harry unlocked the door, awkwardly juggling the bags.

"Harry…" Hermione said, her now free hand rubbing her arm, as if she had goosepimples. Harry glanced back at her before pushing the door open with his foot, almost falling off of the front step as he did so. Stumbling into the entry, he leaned against the wall to try and right himself.

The first thing he noticed was the quiet: the hallway painting wasn't howling or hooting softly, the television wasn't on. There were no gagging fumes floating down the stairs, no sickly-sweet mist, not even the smell of something burning in the kitchen. It was like Grimmauld Place had become a vacuum. Harry dropped his bags and Pads' leash on the floor when he saw Draco's towel- the poofy green one- lying on the floor by the stairs. Panic constricted his chest like an animal as he stooped to pick it up, twisting it as he turned back to Hermione. Caught in the middle of shutting the door, her face was white.

"Harry," she breathed, and he followed her gaze. The doors to the sitting room were thrown open, the glass shattered out of them so that silver and white and red shards were scattered across the floor. Pads stood in the midst of the mess, his head cocked, and he whined once: a long, lonely sound that sent chills up Harry's spine. Pads began to pick his way through the mess into the sitting room. The towel fell out of his hands as he bolted after his dog, feeling like a nightmare when he saw Draco propped up against the sofa, his head hanging limply so that a curtain of white-blond hair hid his face from view.

"Oh dear God," Hermione whispered. Harry's legs buckled, sending him to his knees beside Draco. The animal in his chest saw fit to crush his heart in its claws, a droning insect whine in his head repeating, _He's not breathing not breathing oh God he's not breathing, _over and over again. His hand shook as he reached out, trying to feel for a pulse; it twitched as he brushed across tacky, sticky blood, the mantra in his mind switching to, _That should be inside him not out he can't be dead please breathe. _With a malicious chuckle the talons on his heart let go, his heart resuming a painful beat in his chest.

"Get help!" he croaked, looking up to find Hermione with her face already in the Floo. _Hang on please hang on._

-- -- --

_There is nothing._

_Beyond that, there is no awareness, no sensation of _you. _There is only the abyss, stretching on forever. There is only the void's soothing embrace. There is only the soft quiet of black. A sweetly muffling cloud of separation that seeps into every crack and niche and blankets, becomes. A voice of nothing that whispers, in tones that cannot be heard, things that cannot be understood. Floating in this quiet oblivion, it is easy for the obscure thought of perfection to come. There is nothing, none of the intricacies, the difficulties, that cause feeling._

_There is a tugging, something that pulls. Gently, urgently. It needs, it begs. Some part of the blackness wants to return, understands that this tug is important, somehow. More important than perfection, than simplicity, than existence. This tug. There is a stirring as a word surfaces, a name to call it by: _live.

_Distorted feeling returns in a flood, painting the nothing with crazy spikes and swirls of brazen, bragging colour. With sudden, blinding clarity I comes back to you: a child, a man, a human, a life. Something touches your hand and then pain returns like a wildfire, filling every nerve with lightning. You want to scream and then you remember sound as a symphony of silent wails sets up inside your mind. There is copper in your throat and on your tongue and you remember taste, the sickly-sweet scent of blood in your nostrils reminds you of smell. Finally, your eyes open, a crack of light that burns into the painted patterns, brighter than anything your mind could imagine, and you remember. _

-- -- --

"Oh God," he whimpered, and returned to chewing on his fingernails, afraid to touch Draco. For the past five hours he had been lying in the hospital bed, silent as the dead, his chest barely moving as he breathed. He looked almost childlike except for the blood matting his hair and the streaks of gore still crossing his arms and face though he had been healed hours before. Hermione had gone down to the cafeteria with her protective escort, Sophie clutched protectively against her chest, leaving Harry to keep his quiet vigil over Draco's prostrate form.

Draco's head turned, and Harry nearly jumped out of his seat, falling back into it again when nothing else happened. He nibbled on his fingernail again, tasting blood, and pulled his hand back to stare at it curiously, bitten down to nothing. Harry dropped his hand, rubbing the finger against the pad of his thumb, and started jiggling his foot instead. Why couldn't he have told Draco to come with them? Why had they had to piss Ron off so much last night? There might be no magical signature left behind, but Harry knew it was Ron. Using his fists would be more appealing than hexing Draco to Ron.

"Oh God," Harry whispered again, hesitantly reaching out to take Draco's hand. Harry shivered: Draco was always cool, but now he was cold, like he had been drenched in ice water. Blinking back tears, Harry lay his head on the bed and squeezed Draco's hand. _Just be okay, _he thought. _Wake up, please. _There was no fairness in regaining a friend to lose a lover.Draco moved. His hand clenched, a weak grasp on Harry's, and he gave a small groan. Harry's head jerked upright; Draco turned his, his eyes half-open. He seemed to be trying to say something, but all that came out was a rasp.

"Don't try to talk," Harry said, relief flooding into his blood. "Your jaw was broken." Draco shut his mouth and nodded slightly. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against his pillow and swallowed, cataloguing every twinge and tickle. Breathing still sent faint chills into his back; his arms and legs felt like lead. The door clicked open.

"Harry?" Hermione called softly. Harry looked back over his shoulder, a hopeful grin on his face, and Draco's hand twitched, not quite lifting from the bed as he tried to wave. Hermione gasped. "He's awake!" Draco opened one eye again, a half smile on his face. That was easier to manage than the waving, at least.

"Just now," Harry said giddily.

"Water," Draco croaked, opening his other eye. Hermione was across the room in a flash, on her knees by the side of his bed, digging a bottle of water out of her handbag. Sophie scurried after her mother and stood behind her on her toes, her hands on Hermione's shoulder as she peered at Draco. Draco smiled at her, reaching a shaky hand out to take the proffered bottle. He brought it to his lips and sighed as the burn in his throat lessened.

"Was it…" Hermione trailed off, her face pinched. They already knew. Draco was positive of that; it was just a formality, asking him. It was also something that he knew was hurting Hermione. He nodded, what he hoped was a comforting look on his face, and balanced the bottle on his chest before clearing his throat. Hermione shook her head, her lip curled, something he hadn't expected. "How _could _he?"

"Pretty easy," Draco rasped, wondering when he had acquired a dragon voice. Harry squeezed his hand harder.

"But… the wards."

"We didn't invite him in," Hermione said bitterly. Draco shook his head, wincing against the pain in his face. He pressed the bottle against his neck to try and cool it down.

"Partner," he said quietly. A look of recognition crossed Hermione's face and she scowled darkly.

"That fucking little cockroach," she growled, and Sophie gasped, her little hand flying to cover her mouth. Draco smiled as Hermione reached over her shoulder to pat Sophie's hand. "I'm sorry sweetie, but your daddy's partner is a little cockroach. He's an animagus," she said with grim humor, looking from Harry to Draco. "He knows just how to crawl into little cracks."

Draco whimpered. "Ow ow ow," he whinged, trying to free his hand from Harry's now deathly tight grip. Harry released him, leaning back heavily in his seat and cracking his knuckles, a dark scowl similar to Hermione's on his face. Draco sorely wished that the partner had shifted while he was still moving; he could have crushed the little pest. He smiled, revelling in the thought.

"If they look into Ron, they'll check out his partner too, right?" Hermione nodded.

"They should," she said.

"If?" Draco frowned, trying to work the sore stiffness out of his fingers.

"You are a… _were…_" Hermione said softly, as Draco brought the bottle to his lips for another sip. His eyes involuntarily slid to his arm, uncovered by the garish hospital gown he was wearing. He stared at the bare skin, the hairs pricking along his arm, and forced himself to drop the bottle back to its original place. It took a good deal of will not to pull the blankets up to his shoulders and hide. His mark, his scars, every ugly thing on him.

"No help for the wicked," Draco croaked sullenly, scratching the inside of his wrist along the blanket. Hermione shook her head quickly, her hair flying. Sophie grabbed it, holding it down.

"I didn't mean that," Hermione said, and Draco gave her a flat look. She hesitated. "I know it… sounds like that, but… it isn't."

"It is for them," Harry said sharply, "all that matters is that damned tattoo."

"I'm here," Draco said pointedly in his hoarse voice, and grit his teeth. He immediately regretted it as pain crawled up the sides of his face, prickling like spider legs. Harry's eyes softened as he looked at Draco, as much an apology for talking over him as his words were.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. Draco shook his head, his neck feeling tight and hot. He reached up to scratch his neck, gingerly feeling a thin, ropy scar that stretched from his Adam's apple to just below his ear. Alarmed, he glanced at Harry, his fingers pressed and spread across the length of the line. "The glass."

"Bastard tried to _bleed _me?" Draco said harshly, his voice reaching a painfully high pitch. With the glass from the doors his mother had designed, no less. With white fucking lilies. Harry glowered again, obviously following the same train of thought as Draco was. "No finesse," Draco muttered, and dropped his hand back to his chest, frowning at it.

"No, I suppose Ronald has no finesse," Hermione said.

"Do you feel better Uncle Draco?" Sophie piped up, peeking over Hermione's shoulder again. Draco handed the bottle to Harry- who took it gladly- and reached out both of his arms for Sophie. She pulled herself onto the bed with a grin on her face and crawled up, nestling beside him. Very carefully, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. Draco hugged back.

"Much," Draco said softly. "Got my Sophster, my Her-" his voice caught and he cleared his throat, "Hermione, 'n my Harry." Sophie giggled at Draco balanced a finger on her nose, then walked his fingers up between her eyebrows and back down. He looked up at Hermione as Sophie batted his hand away and started playing with his nose. "Can we not talk about Ron?" he asked nasally.

"Of course," Draco relaxed and began playing with the fake rose clipped into Sophie's hair.

"You're all dirty," Sophie said as she dragged her finger through a splotch of dried blood on Draco's forehead. She held it up to show him and wrinkled her nose up.

"I know," Draco said seriously. "I must stink." Sophie nodded her agreement, and Harry chuckled.

"Mister Malfoy!" a severe voice shrieked. The nurse bustled in, waving her clipboard like a weapon, her green smock clean in that painful way that hospital things are. Draco sat himself up straighter and continued to rearrange the petals on Sophie's flower, pointedly ignoring the nurse. She didn't seem to like that her patient wasn't looking at her. She shook her finger under Draco's nose and admonished, "You should be resting!"

"I'm fine," Draco said testily, and the nurse squawked, almost shoving Hermione over in her attempt to get closer to Draco. Hermione frowned, but stood up, brushing herself off and moving out of the nurse's way. Harry was back to glaring at the nurse, who affected not to notice.

"You especially shouldn't be _talking_!" She grabbed his wrist, pulling his arm away from Sophie. Draco's lips pressed together in a thin line. The nurse took his pulse with a sour grimace on her face. She frowned at Sophie, who gave her enormous blue doe-eyes. "You shouldn't be on this bed."

"Uncle Draco invited me," Sophie said uncertainly, her eyes darting from Draco to Harry to her mother. Hermione swept her daughter up into her arms, elbowing the nurse aside in the process, but Draco kept a hold on Sophie's hand. The nurse was forced to let go as Sophie, and consequently Draco's arm, were pulled away from her.

"He needs rest," the nurse barked. She pointed, with her quill, to Harry, now trying to spit him with her gaze. "You shouldn't be in here."

"They're not leaving," Draco growled. The nurse frowned, but said nothing when she saw the hard expression on Harry's face. She turned to Draco, clearly read to snap at him, but her words caught in her throat. A cursory glance was all that Hermione received. Instead of speaking, the nurse made a _hem _sound, tapped her quill against her clipboard, and left in a huff. Draco glared after her as the door closed.

"What time is it?" he asked when he was sure she wouldn't come back in to bite them. As he turned to Harry, Hermione went around the bed, taking a seat in the corner with Sophie on her lap.

"About two," Harry told him. Draco nodded.

"When am I getting out?" Harry laughed.

"Figures," he said fondly. "I don't know. Sometime later today, I guess."

"Well," Draco said, his voice crackling, "I think I'll go back to sleep."

"Good idea," Harry said, reaching up to brush a clump of hair out of Draco's face. Draco looked up at him, a tired smile on his face. Somehow, he knew, things would be okay.

-- -- --

"_Shit_!" The exclamation was loud and cross, it's vehemence clear even down the hallway in the library where he sat. The childlike gasp that followed it, proceeded by several low apologies, made Draco wonder what Harry had done now. He was usually quite good at keeping his tongue around Sophie, except when he was angry. Or had hurt himself. Draco carefully closed his book, sliding a folded green piece of paper into place as a makeshift bookmark, and stood up. He shuffled into the hall and towards the kitchen, stopping to lean against the wall, to see Harry with the Prophet spread out on the table, trying to burn it with his eyes.

"Uncle Harry said a bad word," Sophie said primly, and popped a slice of apple into her mouth. Harry looked up at him, his eyebrows drawn together in a characteristically angry-Harry face, and bent over the table, stabbing a finger towards a headline.

"I'd rather they'd kept bothering me," he said, and Draco frowned, coming to stand beside Harry and peering down at the paper, following the finger to the headline it was trying to smudge out of existence. Carefully, he pried Harry's hand off of the paper and read the first few lines of the article, feeling his face drain of colour and his throat close up painfully. How the fuck did these crazy people always find them?

"When?"

"It must have been a nurse, or maybe Hermione's escort. We know how reliable aurors are now," Harry snarled. Sophie leaned far over the table, her toes on her chair and her elbows on most of the paper, and read the headline aloud as Hermione entered the room from the back garden, a bunch of tiny flowers in her hand.

"_Boy-Who-Lived-Twice Hiding With Death Eaters_," she said, and Hermione nearly dropped her flowers. "_Mister Harry Potter, Chosen One, Saviour of the wizarding world, has been spotted recently in Diagon Alley with a mysterious, tall, blonde man_," Sophie giggled as Hermione scooped her up into her arms and continued her daughter's reading. "_Rumours abound but the Prophet has the full scoop: Mister Mystery happens to be none other than Draco Abraxas Tristram Malfoy, only heir to the Malfoy line, son of a Death Eater, pureblood purist… _What is this _tripe_?" Hermione exclaimed, bumping Sophie up on her hip.

"Pureblood purist?" Draco muttered. "They need a better writer."

"Abraxas Tristram?" Hermione asked lightly.

"My parents are very big on family, if you haven't noticed. Abraxas was my grandfather's name."

"Tristram?"

"Well, I needed my own middle name, after all, not a used one."

Harry blinked at the both of them, clearly wondering whether they noticed the relative unimportance of the topic at hand. "I thought you wanted to stay hidden, Draco."

"I did," Draco shrugged. "Now I can't. I don't suppose I could have once I was beaten to something faintly resembling me." Harry's face twisted for a moment.

"Still, they don't have to be pissing on me all the time, now do they?" He fell heavily into a chair- it creaked under his sudden onslaught of weight- and leaned back in it, staring at the paper. Hermione took that moment to reach forward and flip the Prophet closed, raising her eyebrows and meeting Harry's eyes. Harry looked back at her passively.

"Harry, they'll do that until you buy them," she said. Harry grumbled something that could have been _vault _and _galleons, _but Hermione affected not to notice. She thumbed some peanut butter off of Sophie's nose, scraping it back onto the little plate holding the rest of the peanut butter covered apple slices, and deposited her daughter squarely back in her seat.

"You keep your bum on that chair," she told Sophie, who nodded, nibbling on another slice of apple. She gave Draco a sharp look, which whetted itself further on him as he leaned his weight onto his left foot. Surely she couldn't see that he was still hurting, however faintly. He tried to achieve Harry's level of calm, but Hermione's piercing stare seemed to make the pain-bugs creeping along his sides bigger.

"You should keep your bum on a chair too, Draco," she told him.

"I'm not six, Hermione," Draco told her, but Harry pushed the chair up under him with his foot. It hit Draco's knees, and he sank into it, trying to make the movement look smooth and natural. The backs of his legs were stinging now. He stared forlornly across the table at Sophie, who was engrossed in turning a perfectly good apple into a peanut butter mummy.

"Can I have an apple?" She gave him one, and he nibbled on it.

"How do they manage to publish things so f- fast," Harry said, hiccuping over his initial instinct to swear. Sophie narrowed her eyes at him.

"I don't know. It must be dark magic," Hermione said with a wry grin. Harry rolled his eyes at her.

"We didn't even get out of the damn hospital until five, Hermione. Did they publish a special issue or something to bother us with tonight?"

"We were in early. They probably smashed it into the later copies they produced, just to rankle you."

"They rankled!" Harry growled. Draco reached over and pinched his cheek.

"He's so adorable, wouldn't you say?" Draco asked Hermione.

"When he's angry? Very," she agreed. Harry scowled; Draco let go of his cheek and Harry sank into a chair beside him, giving in to temptation and crumpling the Prophet into a fist-sized ball. He then threw it across the room, where it bounced off of the rubbish bin.

"No wonder you weren't a Chaser," Draco mused.

"I wish I could shut the Prophet up," Harry growled again, and Draco saw Hermione roll her eyes across the table.

"Good luck with that," she said. But Harry appeared to be lost in his own thoughts.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

_Packed his suitcase_

Harry's eyes flickered open. He wasn't sure what had woken him up in the middle of the silent night, but something had. Surely it wasn't Draco, who was curled up in on himself like a kitten, his forehead practically pressed against his knees, not even using his pillow and covered completely by the duvet. Kitten. Harry was awe-struck for a moment at how he could so easily compare this pale, tall man with a kitten; a white kitten with a ball of string that was his heart, blithely unaware of what he was playing with.

_I'm too tired for metaphors, _Harry told himself, and stretched, running his hands through his hair. Harry rolled onto his back and lay flat, staring up at the ceiling, before rolling onto his other side. Draco snuffled in his sleep as Harry stared at the wall, wondering why he felt so awake while at the same time feeling drained of energy. Harry sat up, swung his legs off of the bed, wiggling his toes against the coldness of the floor, and got up. He sneaked out of the bedroom, intent on getting himself a two a.m. snack without waking Draco.

He avoided the squeaky steps on his way down, turning to head into the kitchen. Harry yawned, stuffing his fist into his mouth so that he ended up squeaking, as he entered the kitchen. When he opened his eyes there was a blinding light from the refrigerator, and his blurry vision caught Hermione standing there, a jug of orange juice in her hand. She looked surprised, to say the least, wearing the giant sweater Harry had given her earlier and… well, knee-high socks.

That appeared to be it.

Even Harry's sleep-addled brain noticed that he was staring. He jerked himself upright and tried to grin at Hermione, realising belatedly that the expression could look rather lecherous on his tired face. Mentally, he smacked himself.

"Sophie was thirsty," Hermione said in a very small voice.

"Oh," Harry said, feeling clever. He yawned again, covering his mouth with his hand, but the jaw stretching leaked out and he found the whole thing stretching without his accord. Hermione let the fridge close- the darkness was incredibly black besides it- and he heard the juice being poured into a glass.

"Do you want the rest? There's not much," Hermione said softly. Harry reached out, blind, along the counter, until he came across the jug.

"Sure," he said.

"Well… good night, Harry," Hermione's voice had got farther away. He lifted his hand to wave at her before he realised she probably couldn't see it. Hermione did not miss the squeaky steps on her way up. He heard her feet shuffling around upstairs for several moments, as he drank what little orange juice there was out of the jug. With manly precision he crushed the jug, dropped it on the counter, and ambled back up the stairs, feeling like he could get back to sleep again. Harry closed the bedroom door quietly, turning the knob so that the lock wouldn't click as it caught, before crawling back into bed with Draco, who was now sprawled and taking up the entire mattress with his long limbs. Harry curled up against him and fell back to sleep.

-- -- --

Draco woke to Harry's normal possessive clinging. Not that he minded the possessive clinging, he just wished it didn't cut off the circulation to his legs and make them fall asleep. For such a short man, Harry had a surprising amount of strength. Draco wiggled an arm free and gently pried himself out of Harry's grasp- Harry snorted in his sleep and groped for something new to cling to- before he wobbled to his legs, willing them to work.

They itched and tingled with pins and needles, but after a moment they started listening to him. He fetched some jeans from the wardrobe and turned back around to see Harry now cuddling with a pillow, like an overlarge puppy in a basket. With a grin, Draco left the room. He stretched on his way down the stairs, his elbow brushing a photograph, which protested loudly. Sophie was in the sitting room, sitting on the floor with a bowl of cereal on the coffee table, watching a cartoon.

"Ron almost never let her watch television," Hermione said, coming to stand beside him with a cup of tea in her hand. "He said she could be doing more important things."

"She could be," Draco said, "but they don't really matter if it's not what she wants to be doing." Hermione nodded, a bare inclination of her head.

"Very astute," Harry said from behind them, causing Hermione to jump. How, after a decade, Harry had managed to remember all the squeaking, groaning bits of Grimmauld Place, Draco hadn't the faintest idea. It was just incredibly annoying how he could sneak up on you. Inexplicably, Hermione's cheeks coloured and she vanished into the sitting room, curling around her daughter.

Draco looked at Harry. His eyebrows were drawn together, as if he was confused, and he tilted his head owlishly. Noticing Draco's enquiring glance he shrugged, then turned back to head into the kitchen. Draco followed him, allowing Harry to complete his morning ritual of coffee making and accepting a steaming mug of caffeinated goodness. Harry sat down at the table, still looking faintly puzzled.

"Good night?" Draco asked him.

"Mm," Harry said, chewing on his lip. "What's that?" Draco looked back over his shoulder and saw a crumpled white mass on the counter. It took him a moment to recognise it for the jug oforange juice Harry had bought for Sophie the day before.

"Jug," he said. A look of realisation dawned on Harry's face.

"Oh," he said, and then snorted a laugh. "_Oh._"

"Oh? It's a jug, not the answer to life."

"No, it's just an answer to why Hermione is acting oddly," Harry grinned. "I think you were right."

"Of course, I'm always right," Draco said loftily. "About?"

"I don't think she's caught on." It took Draco a moment to comprehend this, and then he smirked a very evil smirk.

"Well, how shall we tell her, then?" he asked, and Harry knew by his expression that he was plotting several unkind ways to inform Hermione of their relationship.

"With words," Harry said forcefully. Draco's smirk deepened, and Harry understood this to mean he wasn't following Harry's train of thought. "_Words, _not incriminating sounds."

"Incriminating sounds?" Hermione asked as she entered the kitchen, Sophie's cereal bowl in hand and a curious look on her face. "Is this about Ron?" Draco, obviously trying to stifle a laugh, sipped his coffee, eyeing Harry over the rim of the mug. Harry stared into his own coffee with great interest. "Well?" Hermione said testily, as she dropped the bowl in the sink. Draco cleared his throat.

"Harry has something to tell you," he offered, and Harry glared at him.

"Oh," Hermione said, a forced lightness in her voice. "If it's about last night, I-"

"Not precisely," Harry interrupted.

"-Didn't think anyone would be up. I haven't any pyjamas!" After a short moment, Draco made several choked sounds as he tried not to laugh. Despite his efforts, Hermione blushed, and Harry took it upon himself to discipline Draco with a solid kick to the shin.

"Actually, it didn't really bother me," Harry said honestly, as Draco growled at him and rubbed his leg. Hermione looked both shocked and embarrassed and turned an even darker shade of red. "You see, this," he pointed first to Draco and then to himself, "is not simply for convenience." Draco straightened himself and snatched his coffee back up.

"Well, I figured you were friends a while ago, I don't see what this has to do with anything." Harry made a disgruntled sound and Draco sipped his coffee again, a terribly amused grin on his face. Harry glared at him again, as if this was all his fault.

"I'm gay, Hermione," Harry said bluntly. Draco choked on his coffee and Hermione's eyebrows shot up her forehead.

"Oh," she said, and then, "_Oh._" Draco finally regained control of his lungs and let out a whooping laugh, slamming his mug down onto the table. "I think I need to sit," Hermione said dreamily, sinking into the nearest seat. She rested her arms on the table and look between Harry and Draco, who hastily wiped coffee from his chin with the back of his wrist, now smirking. "So you-"

"Yes," Harry said.

"And the-"

"Certainly," Draco said.

"But you-"

"Sure do," a grin stole over Harry's face as Hermione's eyes went wide.

"And it-"

"Quite good, actually," Draco supplied, and Hermione's blush darkened. Hermione hid her face behind her hands, peeking out between her fingers, at Harry and Draco. Harry was running a finger around the rim of his mug. A roguish grin crept across Hermione's face.

"Oh _my,_" she giggled. "Do you hear that, Harry?"

"What?" Harry blinked.

"That tinkling sound," Hermione continued, letting her hands fall. "It's the sound of witches' hearts breaking all over England." Harry groaned, rolling his eyes, but he relaxed considerably in his seat. Draco didn't bother to stop himself from laughing this time, and Hermione soon joined him.

Things were calm for most of the day, until an owl tapped at the glass of the sitting room window at about three p.m., bearing a missive from the ministry. Taubolt, from his perch on the fireplace mantle, shrieked, his feathers fluffing out until he looked like a feather duster. Harry soothed him while Draco opened the window and invited the bird in. It sat pompously on the coffee table and dropped the letter. It was addressed to Hermione.

Hermione ripped it open, reading the letter so fast the Draco barely had time to register it was from the head of the auror department before she threw it into the air with an exasperated sound. Draco snatched it out of the air and finished his reading before handing it to Harry, whose expression became dark.

"Good. He deserves to be sacked, though," Harry said.

"It's a formality," Hermione said softly. "Until they put him under veritaserum at the hearing."

"What about his partner?" Harry asked as he scanned the letter again for any mention of the man. Hermione shrugged.

"I suppose he's suspended as well."

"Better be," Draco growled, once more wishing he had squished him. There was another tapping at the window, where an owl shuffled against the invisible barrier of the wards, and the ministry's owl looked affronted that it was sharing space with the raggedy creature. Taubolt hooted ominously from the mantle, clearly displeased to be sharing any of his space with anyone.

"Yeah, yeah, come in," Harry said distractedly, and the owl hopped into the room. It thrust its leg out, a few stray feathers falling to the floor, and the ministry owl looked revolted. Carefully skirting the dirty bird, it threw itself back out of the window as Harry untied the scroll attached to this new owl's leg.

"For you again," he said as he handed it to Hermione. Hermione unrolled it, her eyes going wide as she read it, and slumped against the sofa, still holding it unravelled so that Draco and Harry could read.

"It's…" she began, when neither Harry nor Draco said anything. "He wants a _divorce._"

"Good," Harry said at once.

"The nerve," Draco said scathingly.

"What?"

"He's making it seem that _he's_ leaving _her, _the bastard," Draco said.

"His lawyer is," Hermione amended softly, seeming in another world. "Oh _no, _I can't lose Sophie. Not to him."

"He won't get her," Draco said resolutely.

"If I have to hex his fingers off," Harry finished summarily.

"But I haven't a job," Hermione fretted. "Oh, I wonder if Whelan will let me come back to work now."

"It doesn't matter," Harry said gently, prying Hermione's fingers off of the scroll. He rolled it back up and tucked it away on the end table. As he turned back to Hermione, something collided with his head, and there was a great amount of high-pitched twittering, and Harry recognised at once that Pigwidgeon had entered the house through the still open window. He landed on Hermione's head and began to groom her, still chirping.

Hermione was very pale as she reached up and plucked the tiniest of scraps of parchment from Pigwidgeon's leg, unfolding it once. Her jaw set and she frowned down at the words scrawled messily across the parchment. _Have fun with your hero, _the parchment said. Hermione balled up her fist around it, crushing it. Pig twittered gleefully.

"Don't worry, Hermione," Harry said, clearly trying to keep his anger at bay. "He'll get what's coming to him."

-- -- --

"I'm afraid that's how it is, Missus Weasley."

"No, I absolutely refuse," Hermione said stoutly. "He is abusive, and I won't have him watching my daughter for however long it takes to get him to trial." The man behind the desk shook his head, as if he was having trouble explaining something very simple to a very small child.

"He has the means to support her," he said.

"So will I," Hermione said. "I will be returning to work at the ministry under Fox Whelan, head of the department of mysteries."

"But you haven't a home."

"A friend of mine has been kind enough to let me stay with him," Hermione said. Ron's lawyer looked suddenly gleeful, like he had happened upon a goldmine.

"You mean to say you are staying with a male friend?"

"Yes," Hermione said tightly.

"A male friend that you, perhaps, were visiting before Mister Weasley decided that a divorce was in order?" Hermione scowled at him.

"Yes, you gutter-minded fool," she snapped. The lawyer's quill took down several notes of it's own volition as he continued to smile disarmingly at Hermione. "I do not see the point in accommodating any of Ronald's demands, as he will shortly be in Azkaban prison," she said sharply, and the man's smile wobbled. "Yes, the Azkaban for _criminals_. Perhaps we should meet again after the trial, and then we will see what Ronald can demand."

Hermione stood up, turned gracefully, and strode out of the room. The man behind the desk frowned as his quill took down the final slam of the door, punctuating the page sharply. Outside, Harry leapt to his feet, shortly followed by Draco, who had been entertaining Sophie with his impressions of various animals. Pads seemed to be as amused as Sophie was when Draco had meowed loudly. Harry was rather anxiously chewing on his fingernails as Draco handed Sophie back to her mother.

"Well?" he said around his hand, which Draco pushed down. Harry grinned sheepishly.

"I told him to tell Ron to bugger himself with his demands," Hermione said primly. The receptionist at the desk made a loud sound as she nearly fell out of her seat; her inkbottle tipping to spill over the report she was filling out. Snugging Sophie's bobble hat on tighter, Hermione lead them out of the building and into Diagon Alley, which was bustling with life as people shopped for the upcoming Easter holiday.

"I want ice cream," Sophie said, and began to chant about the aforementioned snack. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Uncle Harry cannot be filling you with sweets all the time, or he won't have any money left!"

"I don't mind," Harry said with a grin, and Hermione narrowed her eyes at him half-heartedly as Sophie cheered. Harry feigned a look of innocent ignorance as he said, "Fortescue's?"

"Oh, all right," Hermione said with a long-suffering sigh that made Draco laugh. Pads whined as someone walked a crup by, the animal wagging its forked tail at him. They turned to head towards Fortescue's, pushing through where the crowd thinned. There was an extraordinary amount of people out today, Harry thought as he nearly ran into a short, balding wizard.

"Hermione!" someone called, and they turned around to see a shock of red hair coming towards them through the crowd. Hermione's grip on Sophie tightened as Harry's jaw clenched and Draco glared at the approaching head. Someone moved out of the way of the coming person, revealing it to be George rather than Ron.

"Oh, George," Hermione said, relieved.

"You all right? Mum told us about your letter," he looked momentarily murderous. "Bloody wanker, thought Percy was bad enough, but… Well," he said, and gestured vaguely. "Wanted to let you know you've got more than just mum on your side."

"Thanks," Hermione said gratefully, and George shuffled his feet. Pads pressed up against his leg and wiggled, and George grinned.

"Nice dog," he said, looking up at Harry. For a moment Harry was certain George recognised him, but it seemed he was incorrect as George gestured over his shoulder, turning his gaze back to Hermione. "Well, I've got to get back to the store, I'll see you at Easter," George grinned mirthlessly. "Mum would rather have you and Sophie than Ron there." With that, he turned and vanished into the crowd again, only his red hair visible amongst the teeming hats and heads. Sophie waved after him with a mittened hand as they turned.

"Can I have ice cream now?" she asked, looking up at Harry with her enormous blue eyes. Harry chuckled. They stopped to pick up towering cones of ice cream- chocolate for Sophie, mint for Harry, who grinned childishly when Hermione arched an eyebrow at him- and finished them at a table on the cold cobbles. By the end of his cone, Harry could hardly feel his face, and he was quite glad to be apparated back to Grimmauld Place.

Sophie chased Pads into the house, stopping only long enough for her mother to remove her jacket as Harry and Draco hung up their cloaks. Pads stared into the sitting room for a moment, his stub wagging, before he capered in between the now glassless doors. Harry stepped forward to see what had got him so worked up. There, sitting neatly on the sofa, was Narcissa Malfoy.

"Hello," she said charmingly as Draco came up beside Harry, looking surprised. "I had heard my son got himself sent to Saint Mungo's, and he hadn't the courtesy to write to me." Draco coloured slightly at the admonition.

"Er," he said. "Sorry?"

"I'm sure you are," Narcissa said sweetly as she stood. The effect of the simple movement was grand, as her pale blue dress and darker blue cloak swept around her, giving the impression of a shimmering blue peahen. Hermione gently pushed Draco forward to take Sophie's hand, as if she didn't believe the Malfoys were yet tamed. With a smile, Narcissa stepped forward and offered Hermione her hand. Hermione, eyes wide, shook it.

"Pleasure to meet you properly, Miss Granger," Narcissa said. For a moment Hermione looked like she was going to correct her, but she said instead, in a quiet voice, "And to meet you, Missus Malfoy." Narcissa then knelt down, eye-level with Sophie, and offered the little girl her hand. Sophie mimicked her mother, a broad grin on her freckled face.

"Hello, I am Narcissa, but you may call my Cissy. And you are?"

"Sophie. It's nice to meet you Miss Cissy," Sophie said politely.

"May I ask," Narcissa said as she righted herself again. She turned her eyes, suddenly sharp, to Draco. "How you ended up in hospital?" Draco gestured towards the sofa silently, which he, Harry and Narcissa sank into, as Hermione curled up comfortably in the armchair. Sophie pulled a blanket around herself and turned on the telly before crawling into her mother's lap.

"Well, you see," Draco began, looking up at Hermione, who was stroking Sophie's hair. "Hermione's husband took a dislike to my attitude."

"Ronald Weasley?" Narcissa said questioningly, glancing at Hermione.

"He seemed to think Draco- or maybe Harry- was trying to steal me away," she said humourlessly.

"You are quite joking?" Hermione shook her head. "Oh dear. I hope you're quite all right."

"I'm fine," Hermione said with a brave smile.

Narcissa nodded before turning back to Draco, inspecting him. She tilted his chin up with her long fingers and Draco allowed her without resistance, looking up out the window as his mother tutted softly at him. Draco had never looked more uncomfortable that at that moment, as he began to fidget with the hem of his shirt. Harry patted his arm soothingly.

"I suppose this is why my windows are gone?" Draco nodded slightly, and Narcissa shook her head dramatically, heaving a sigh before expressing her opinion on the matter. "Absolutely no finesse."

-- -- --

Well, I figured I had to upload something and two chapters was better than none at all! I was gone for about five days and unable to write, and when I came back I'd lost my train of thought for this chapter and for _Fire, _but I'm getting it back by force! Therefore, this might seem a bit quashy, seeing as I stuck my muse on a chain and whipped it a bit.

Thanks very much for the reviews, VadMustang, the Furtive Oubliette, and Zafaran ) I cherish seeing my numbers go up and hasten to read my reviewsies. It's making me realise what an ass I am for not reviewing what I read, even though I usually copy it to Word and read it on my laptop in my comfy chair...


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

_Kissed his kids goodbye_

"_Chocolate!_" Sophie shrieked, rousing Harry from a deep sleep. His eyes felt glued together and he really, really didn't want to wake up, but it was almost impossible now that Sophie was crowing, stomping up and down the hallway. He heard Hermione try vainly to shush her, but if anything Sophie got louder.

Harry moved his arm, and Draco moaned, "Nooo…" Harry chuckled as Draco curled up further, trying vainly to block out Harry's movements and Sophie's shouts. But Harry was now feeling the vindictive need to wake someone up unpleasantly, and so he did. He scrubbed his cheek against Draco's and Draco whinged.

"You prickly _wanker_," Draco grumbled, fumbling for his pillow. He smacked it into Harry and tried to curl up more, but Harry didn't relent. Still chuckling, he proceeded to scratch his face against every bit of skin that he could reach: Draco's neck, Draco's shoulder, Draco's arm, and Draco's ribs, which elicited a high-pitched giggle.

Draco jumped out of bed and glared at Harry, who tried to look innocent.

"_Chocolate!_" Sophie shrieked again, and Draco glared harder at Harry. Harry fluttered his eyelashes at Draco as he hauled himself out of bed. Draco backed up a step, but Harry still pressed against him and looked up at him with intensely green eyes, and Draco blinked.

"You stink," he said. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Way to start the morning," he said. "If you're going to deal with the Weasleys today, you need to be in a better mood." Draco groaned dramatically at that.

"Do I have to?"

"Yes," Harry asserted, and kissed his chest.

"You're not distracting me," Draco said.

"Mm." Harry propped his chin where he had just kissed. "I went to Christmas with you."

"But you _like _my parents."

"I like them _now,_" Harry said. "I didn't want to go then, though."

"Don't do that," Draco said, as Harry made puppy dog eyes up at him. "You're made of evil, you know."

"If I wasn't just a little evil, you wouldn't like me as much."

"I must agree with that," Draco said thoughtfully. "But you still stink."

Harry rolled his eyes again, and left to shower.

-- -- --

"Harry!" A moment after the exclamation, he was engulfed in a hug that threatened to squeeze his lungs out. He could see Hermione with a hand over her mouth, hiding an amused grin as Molly Weasley reasserted her claim over Harry as a mother unit. Her grip was so tight that he dropped Pads' leash, and the dog ran off into George's legs.

"Hello Missus Weasley," Harry croaked, and was immediately released, though Molly had him firmly by the arms. She looked him right in the eye and said, "Molly, dear. You're awfully skinny." Harry put on a brave face, waving him towards a seat at the kitchen table, where Arthur and George already sat.

The Burrow was as Harry had left it, all those years ago. Dishes in the sink were washing themselves, and the clock on the mantle had different hands than it once had: Percy and Fred had been replaced by hands reading Fleur, Victoire, Hermione, Sophie, Andromeda and Teddy. The table stretched further than it used to, and had more chairs, but it was the same crazily tilting Burrow.

A moment after Harry and Hermione took their seat, Draco fell out of the fireplace, blinking owlishly through his hair. Molly began to fuss over him, clearly glad to have found someone who was actually skinny to nag at, and Harry looked over to see George peering at him curiously. George pointed.

"I've seen you," he said at last. "Bloody hell, Harry. Why didn't you say anything?"

Harry blinked, trying very hard not to screw up his eyebrows. "Uh, well, you weren't exactly glad to see me the last time, now were you?"

"None of that!" Molly chided, depositing Draco squarely into a seat with a bun clutched in his hand. Molly then turned to Sophie, who was trying to look innocent as she nibbled at a chocolate rabbit.

"They'll be here soon, dear. Why don't you go out and play?" Sophie nodded sagely and trotted out the door into the yard, and Molly took a seat beside her husband with her cup of tea. There were lines on her face that Harry didn't remember being there, but when she smiled at him she looked just the way she had when Harry was a child.

"I am _so _sorry, Draco, for how my son acted," Molly said. Draco just looked like a butterfly pinned under glass, obviously uncomfortable with everything that was happening. Harry felt his dog squeeze between his and George's knees and sit nearby, probably on Draco's foot, and Draco's face relaxed.

"There's no need to apologize, Missus Weasley."

"_Molly,_" she said again. "We're all adults here."

"I take offence to that remark!" George said loudly, with a roguish grin that Harry recalled very well. Arthur and Hermione started laughing, and Molly made one of those exasperated little sounds that only mothers are capable of making.

"Oh, _George, _honestly." There was a great commotion at the front door, and Bill Weasley entered, carrying Sophie in his arms and balancing another girl on his shoulders and with Fleur Delacour in his wake.

"Muuuum!" Sophie shrieked.

"Muuuum!" Bill mimicked, and dropped Sophie's rear on the table. The other girl- clearly his daughter, from her strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes- wrapped her arms around his neck and slid off of his back to her feet. There was a flurry of activity as first Bill, then Fleur, kissed Molly on either cheek, and Bill exchanged a manly hug with his father and ruffled up George's hair.

"Hermione!" Bill said fondly, and Hermione vanished in a hug. When she emerged, looking slightly dishevelled, Fleur swooped in to plant kisses on her cheeks. Bill then looked at Harry, and then Draco, and offered them his hand in turn.

"Bill Weasley," he said, glancing at his mother.

"Bill, it's _Harry,_" Molly said. "He and Draco are letting Hermione stay with them."

"Harry?" Bill sounded confused.

"Of course, Bill! Harry!" Fleur sounded pleased with herself, her French accent making her affricates breathy.

"Took a leaf from my book, eh?" Bill said good-naturedly as he took a seat between Hermione and his wife. It seemed to take a lot for him to refrain from ruffling Harry as he had George, who was still glaring and trying to rearrange his hair.

"Something like that," Harry said, bewildered. Sophie had slid off of the table and was coaxing Pads out from under it as well, and Bill's daughter made an appropriately interested face when he emerged from hiding and Sophie pulled at his ears.

"He looks so fierce!" she said, reaching out gingerly to pat Pads' head.

"He's really sweet, though, Vicky!" Sophie said, throwing her arms around Pads' neck. "He helps keep Uncle Harry calm, and he's smart. Uncle Harry?" Harry looked up at Sophie, who had her big, pleading doe-eyes on. "Can we take Pads outside?"

"Sure," Harry said. The two girls led the dog back out the door, squealing and bouncing. Harry felt Draco thread his fingers into Harry's, and tried to relax. Pads was not far, and nothing bad was going to happen. These were the Weasleys, after all.

"Victoire's our only daughter," Bill said proudly. "She's going into Hogwarts year after next."

"Yes," Molly said, sipping her tea. "Bill and Fleur have dear Vicky, and Hermione and Ron have little Sophie, and _George…_" she trailed off meaningfully, her eyebrows high and her expression innocent. George made a face.

"Likes his freedom."

"You would be such a _good _father, George," Fleur said energetically. Harry saw Bill and Arthur exchange looks and couldn't help but feel that this was a very old argument happening all over again. "Would he not, Hermione?"

"Oh, certainly," Hermione said, and George's mouth fell open. "You'd have the most amusing kids."

"No, Hermione," George groaned. "You've gone to the dark side!" He turned to Harry, his face imploring. "Harry, come on mate, _you _know I'd be no good at parenting!" Harry shrugged noncommittally, trying to wrestle the rising grin off of his face. When he looked at Draco, his face was perfectly bereft of expression, but his eyes were laughing at George's plight.

George groaned once more, and laid his head on his arms.

"So, Harry, no kids yet?" Molly asked. Harry held his free hand wide to show that he wasn't hiding any children in his shirt pocket, and shook his head.

"Nope."

"Pity, you always had such stunning eyes," Molly said wistfully, and Harry knew she was commenting on the fact that he wasn't exactly wearing his own eyes. She turned her attention to Draco and pursed her lips, as if wondering if prodding would be terribly rude.

"I'm surprised you haven't married yet, Draco," she said.

"Haven't had the time," Draco's tone was light, but his grip on Harry's fingers was beginning to hurt. Harry felt three of his knuckles crack and winced, trying to wriggle out of Draco's grasp, which seemed to attract Molly's attention. She sipped at her tea again and turned back to ask Bill something about Gringott's. Harry looked over to see Hermione smiling secretively.

"You're transparent, you know," she said softly.

"Well, _you _didn't figure it out," Harry replied, working his fingers to try and get the feeling back. Draco grinned sheepishly and muttered an apology, which was drowned out as the door opened yet again and a flood of giggles streamed in in the form of two little girls and a dog.

"Auntie Andromeda's here!" Sophie shouted gleefully, and Harry felt his stomach give a funny little flip. If Andromeda was here, then that meant…

Andromeda strode into the room. She had a rather commanding presence in the dark hair and grey-blue eyes of the Black family. The little boy trailing at her heels did not: he kept his eyes downcast and his hair fell in messy chunks across his face, alternatively blond and brown by waves. Harry reached out again for Draco's hand and Hermione's, feeling just vaguely ill as Molly exclaimed over Andromeda.

Teddy looked up at Harry from across the room, as Pads ran up to him and shoved his head into the boy's hand. There was a smattering of freckles across his nose and his eyes were amber gold edged in brown. Even as Harry watched they faded to blue around the edges, but the gold remained, piercing. Teddy tugged at Andromeda's hand, stroking Pads.

"Who's that, grandma?"

Harry couldn't help it. He stood up, almost dragging Hermione and Draco after him as he made his way across the room. Teddy's eyes went wider- perhaps he was scared by the intensity with which Harry was looking at him- and he clutched at Andromeda. Andromeda's piercing eyes rested on Harry for a moment, and then she said, "It's your godfather, Teddy."

Harry went to his knees- he was unsure if he fell to them or did it of his own will- and looked at Teddy. He _was_ Remus, save for the traces of baby fat still on his cheeks.

"My godfather?" Teddy said questioningly. Harry was aware that everything had gone rather quiet, and when he looked up, he saw that most everyone had vacated the room, except for Hermione and Draco, who were still in his clutches. Swallowing, he let them go and reached out for Pads, trying to calm himself down.

"Why haven't I met you before?" Teddy asked, half an accusation.

"You did," Harry felt himself saying. "But you were _very_ young."

"Well, why didn't you come back when I was older?" Now it was an accusation, and Teddy narrowed his eyes at him, the irises now sparkling Gryffindor colours.

"I… I was in a bad place, Teddy-"

"_Theodore,_" Teddy said sharply, gritting his teeth so that Harry could see the canines were set forward and sharp. He drew in a breath and looked up at Andromeda, whose expression told him she would explain later. He focussed again on Teddy, who was looking mutinous.

"Grandma has told me you knew my parents," he said.

"Your dad was a friend of my father's, and my godfather's, and he was like family," Harry said, rubbing at Pads' neck. "Your mum was with the Order, she was a good laugh."

"If that's it, why are you my godfather?" How could he explain the connection between himself and the Marauders properly? James was his father, Sirius was his godfather, Peter was the man who helped kill his parents, and Remus… Was the mentor he desperately needed when he was a kid, the friend he needed who understood him, a link to a past he'd never known.

"Your dad trusted me to take care of you-" Teddy snorted.

"You did a _good _job," he said, in the casually cruel voice that children are so good at.

"Teddy, that is quite enough," Andromeda said. "Go and play with the girls." Teddy looked up at his grandmother, the mutinous look smoothing out and his eyes shifting neatly back to brown, and he nodded. Without anything further he turned and left the room, and Harry felt himself sag. Pads whined.

"Come on, Harry," Draco said, voice soothing, and pulled Harry to his feet by his arm. Harry allowed himself to be lead back to a seat and leaned against the table, threading his hands into his hair and tugging.

"He hates me," he mumbled.

"He is simply in shock," Andromeda said. "I have always told him he had a brave and loving godfather, but you were never there for him." Her words fisted Harry's heart in his chest and he looked up at her, his pain painted across his face so that he could hear Hermione muttering softly behind him, rubbing circles on his back. Draco gently and inexorably pried one of his hands free and took it in his own.

"I wasn't…"

"You were," Andromeda said with force, and then relaxed. "I'm quite sorry, Harry. I know how you felt when I was appointed his guardian, atop the masses of other matters that were pressing on you." She smiled at him, and Harry could see that she really did understand, but it didn't help at all. "Teddy will come around."

"Are you sure?"

"Harry, may I remind you that _I _have raised this boy?" she said wryly. "Grudges are not becoming of Blacks. Look at where they ended up the rest of my family? No," she summoned the teapot and poured herself a cup. "I will not allow Teddy to follow the same paths as Sirius and Bellatrix and Regulus, no matter what my blood is."

Hermione finally took a seat on Harry's other side, clasping his free hand in hers again.

"Harry, you remember how you felt when you found out Sirius was your godfather."

"Yeah, but I thought he'd killed my parents," he tried to reason, and Hermione just shook her head.

"If you hadn't thought that, you'd still find a reason to dislike him at first. Give him some time."

"Hermione is very right, Harry," Andromeda said gently, sipping her tea. "I am interested to know where you have been these past years, and where I may reach you now."

"I was living as a muggle, right up until Draco stumbled into my life, and," with this, he tried to grin. He knew it was a half-hearted attempt, but he did it anyway. "We're living at Grimmauld Place." Andromeda's eyes flickered, and Harry knew she was just now noticing how Draco was rubbing the pad of his thumb against the back of Harry's hand, whereas Hermione's was twined loosely with the other.

"I remember Grimmauld Place, but not fondly," she said after a moment. "I hope you have been having a better time with it."

"We certainly have," Hermione said. "It's lovely now, Andromeda. I do believe your sister helped to fix it up."

"So you've been in contact with your mother?" Andromeda asked Draco, and he nodded. "I trust she has explained the nature of your father's release?" Draco nodded again, a faint look of puzzlement coming over his face as Andromeda leaned forward. "Would you be disinclined to calm the worries of my troubled heart?"

Harry couldn't help the, "What?" that escaped his mouth, but Draco just nodded again, the movement slightly jerkier than the others as he pulled up his sleeve. Harry could see Andromeda's lip curling at the sight of the mark on his arm, and the flash of pity when she noticed that Draco had apparently tried to slice the tattoo right off of his arm. She leaned back again.

"Thank you for setting me at ease," she said softly, almost apologetically. "But I would be remiss not to ask, there is simply too much at stake for me."

"I understand."

There was an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes that made Harry want to squirm, but it was quickly broken as Andromeda said, "I noticed you seemed curious about Teddy's appearance, Harry."

"Oh, yes. They said he was normal when he was born."

"Well, he was not," she sounded amused. "He's a metamorphmagus, like my dear daughter, and a part-werewolf, much like Bill. Except, since he was bred rather than made, he seems to have inherited his father's… shall we say, build?"

"Can he…"

"Pass the virus?" Andromeda sighed. "Yes, he can. It is very hard to explain to a four year old that he cannot play with the children in the park, because he has not yet learned not to bite when he doesn't get his way."

"I really want to be a proper godfather," Harry said, meeting Andromeda's eye. She tilted her head towards him. "I don't want to lose any more time than I already have."

"Well, Harry," Andromeda replied solemnly, "it's up to you and Teddy now."

-- -- --

By the time they returned to Grimmauld Place, Sophie was sleeping, cradled against Harry's chest. The night had passed easily, though Teddy made it painfully obvious he wanted nothing to do with Harry at that moment, he had not been able to resist the lure that was Pads, and had spent most of the night between Harry and his grandmother, pretending to ignore the former.

Harry plopped Sophie into her bed, and Hermione hurried to tuck her in properly. She looked almost as ready to fall asleep as her daughter had, after spending part of the evening with George, charming chocolate rabbits to hop and run and hide themselves for the kids. Harry murmured a good night to her as they parted ways in the hall, and he padded into his bedroom with Pads.

Pads curled up in his basket and fell asleep immediately, a chorus of snorty dog snores rising from his corner. Draco, ridiculously, did not look tired in the least, and had his _lumos _charmed wand propped up on his shoulder so that he could read a book. The pale blue light of the spell made him look quite surreal, his skin taking on a faint cast, like ice, because he was so pale.

Harry crawled out of his clothes and into bed beside him, propping his chin up on Draco's shoulder and staring at him. Draco attempted to ignore him for a few moments, but as Harry refused to stop staring and was, at the same time, trying to tickle Draco, he had to relent and look at him crossly.

"I'm reading," he whispered.

"I can see that," Harry whispered back. Draco looked at him flatly.

"You don't intend to let me read, do you?" Harry shook his head with a grin, his shaggy hair settling around his face. Draco marked his place in his book and shoved it under his pillow, his wand wobbling a bit but otherwise unmoved. He then crossed his arms and glared down at Harry.

"There, I've stopped."

"Not good enough," Harry murmured.

"Didn't you have _enough _of kids today?" Draco grumbled.

"That threat would work… if you had ovaries." Draco scowled.

"You don't ever stop."

"You don't want me to."

Draco had to agree.

-- -- --

The major point of this chapter is a vehicle to get from one time/place to another and, also, to introduce Teddy. Because, really, I should have had Harry moving for him ages ago. Remember, I haven't read DH, so if Teddy was ever actually described, I am totally out of the loop. My brain made him a mini-Remus as I see Remus, _not _as Thewlis presents him. I'd like to thank Kearie and MagickBeing for their kind reviews ) I love hearing which parts I've written are getting the response I wanted them to.

Flattery gets you _everywhere_.


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